Tales from Shakespeare

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EVERYMAN’S LIBRARY
EDITED BY ERNEST RHYS

FOR YOUNG PEOPLE

TALES FROM SHAKESPEARE
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
BY ARTHUR RACKHAM

THE PUBLISHERS OF 6F8%T3id<^3^S
WILL BE PLEASED TO SEND
FREELY TO ALL APPLICANTS A LIST
OF THE PUBLISHED AND PROJECTED
VOLUMES TO BE COMPRISED UNDER
THE FOLLOWING TWELVE HEADINGS:

TRAVEL ^ SCIENCE ^ FICTION
THEOLOGY & PHILOSOPHY
HISTORY ^ CLASSICAL
FOR YOUNG PEOPLE
ESSAYS ORATORY
POETRY & DRAMA
BIOGRAPHY
ROMANCE

IN TWO STYLES OF BINDING, CLOTH,
FLAT BACK, COLOURED TOP, AND
LEATHER, ROUND CORNERS, GILT TOP.

London : J. M. DENT & CO.
New York: E. P. DUTTON & CO.

;

Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2017 with funding from
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https://archive.org/details/talesfromshakesp1908lamb

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TALESFROn

SHAKESPEARE

BY char_le:s

AND AVAR.Y

LONDON : PUBLISHED
by J-M'DENT* &*CO
AND IN NEW YORK
BY E * P- DUTTON &CO

First Edition^ February igo6
Reprinted^ March igo6 ; August igo6
July igoy ; January jgoS

EDITOR^S NOTE

Charles Lamb was still a young man, not yet known as
“ Elia ” of the essays, when he and his sister and life-long
companion, Mary, wrote together in 1806 the Tales from
Shakespeare ; they were living at the time in Mitre Court
Buildings, Temple. In a letter to a friend in that year,
Mary Lamb says that plays, novels, poems, and “ all manner
of such-like vapouring and vaporous schemes are floating in
my head,’' the result being that Charles, writing on May
the loth, speaks of Mary as having already completed six
of the tales : The Tempest," “Winter's Tale," “Midsummer
Night's Dream,” “Much Ado," “Two Gentlemen of Verona,”
and “ Cymbeline.” “The Merchant of Venice” was in pre-
paration ; Charles himself had done “ Othello ” and “ Mac-
beth," and said it was his intention to do all the tragedies.

We get other interesting glimpses of the tales from Mary.
“You would like to see us,” she says, “as we often sit
writing on one table (but not on one cushion sitting), like
Hermia and Helena in the ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream' ;
or, rather, like an old literary Darby and Joan ; I taking
snuff, and he groaning all the while, and saying he can
make nothing of it, which he always says till he has finished,
and then he finds that he has made something of it.” And
in one of Charles’s letters he writes : — “ Mary is stuck fast
in ‘ All’s well that ends well.’ She complains of having to
set forth so many female characters in boys’ clothes. She
begins to think Shakespeare must have wanted — imagina-
tion ! I, to encourage her (for she often faints in the
prosecution of her great work), flatter her by telling her how
well such a play and such a play is done. But she is stuck
fast, and I have been obliged to promise to assist her. To
do this it will be necessary to leave off tobacco.” Later on,
Mary writes that “Charles has been reading over the tale I
vii

Vlll

Editor’s Note

told you plagued me so much, and he thinks it’s one of the |
very best: it is ‘All’s well that ends well.’” Finally, we
find on Jan. 29th, 1807, Charles writing to Wordsworth,
“We have booked off from Swan and Two Necks, Lad
Lane, this day (per coach), the ‘Tales from Shakespeare.’

. . . We think ‘ Pericles ’ of hers the best, and ‘ Othello ’ of
mine ; but I hope all have some good.”

Charles Lamb died at Edmonton in 1834. Mary Lamb
lived for some years after him, and dying in 1847, was
buried by his side in Edmonton churchyard.

Besides the “Tales from Shakespeare,” 1807, we have
three tales by Charles in Mary Lamb’s “ Mrs. Leicester’s
School,” 1808, and “Poetry for Children,” which he wrote
with her in 1809. The “Essays of Elia,” 1823, and the
“Last Essays of Elia,” 1833, are his most precious books.
How precious they are you will know when you read Elia’s
reverie upon Dream- Children, and his boyish “ Recollections
of Christ’s Hospital.”

The following is a list of the works of Charles Lamb —

Blank Verse by Charles Lloyd and Charles Lamb, 1798 ; A Tale
of Rosamund Gray and Old Blind Margaret, 1798 ; John Woodvil,
a Tragedy, 1802 ; Mrs. Leicester’s School, 1807, by Charles and
Mary Lamb ; Tales from Shakespeare, 1807 ; The Adventures of
Ulysses, 1808 [B. M. 1810 ?] ; Specimens of English Dramatic Poets,
1808; Poetry for Children: Prince Dorus, 1811 ; The Works of
Charles Lamb, 2 vols., 1818 ; Elia Essays, 1823 ; Album Verses,
1830 j Satan in Search of a Wife, 1831 ; tte Last Essays of Elia,
1833 ; Poems on Various Subjects by S. T. Coleridge, late of Jesus
College, Cambridge, 1796, contains four sonnets by Lamb, signed
“ C. L.,” referred to by Coleridge in his preface as by Mr. Charles
Lamb of the India House ; Poems by S. T. Coleridge, 2nd edition,
to which are now added Poems by Charles Lamb and Charles
Lloyd, 1797; Works, 2 vols. (C. & J. Olliver), 1818; Works
(E. Moxon), 1840, 1859, 1870 ; Works (edited and prefaced by
R. H. Shepherd), 1875 ; Works (edited with biographical intro-
duction and notes by C. Kent), 1876 ; Life (by Sir T. N. Talfourd),
Letters, and Writings, 6 vols. (E. Moxon & Co.), 1876; Life (by
Sir T. N. Talfourd), Letters, and Writings (edited by Percy
Fitzgerald), The Temple Edition (printed from the stereotype
plates of Moxon ’s Edition), 6 vols., 1895 ; Life and Works,
introduction and notes by A. Ainger, 12 vols., 1899-1900; Works
(edited by W. Macdonald), 12 vols., 1903,

CONTENTS

PAGE

^The Tempest^ . . . .

5

Midsummer Night’s Dream ^

i8

^ The Winter’s Tale . . .

Much Ado about Nothing J . . , - •

32

• 45

As You Like It / . . . y y^

The Two Gentlemen of Verona ^

60

. 79

The Merchant of Venice . . .

. 94

^'^YMBELINE . . . . . ' •

1 10

/^iNG Lear . .

. 126

: ' A

Macbeth . V . . . . . ^ •

All’s Well that Ends Well . ir

• 157

The Taminq of the Shrew , .

. 172

J

1 The Comedy of Errors ....

. 185

Measure for Measure ....

. 202

Twelfth Night ; or, What you Will

220

/^'Timon of Athens .....

• 23*^

oRomeo and Juliet \l .

. 252

4-

//^f^MLET, Prince of Denmark ^ -

7/Uthello . . . . .

■■■. 27J

• ,292

n

Ic

/^Pericles, Prince of Tyre .

• 30^

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Where is Pease-blossom ? . . .

Face p. 28

When Paulina drew back the Curtain which con-
cealed the famous Statue . ...

>1

Ganymede assumed the forward manners often seen
in youths when they are between boys and men .

n 7^

Shylock was sharpening a long knife

„ 102

Imogen^s two brothers then carried her to a shady

covert ........

„ 120

There upon a heath, exposed to the fury of the storm
on a dark night, did King Lear wander out

• > «3*

They were stopped by the strange appearance of
three figures ......

.. 144

Petruchio, pretending to find fault with every dish,

threw the meat about the floor ....

176

She began to think of confessing that she was a

woman ......

„ 130

At the cell of Friar Lawrence

ON

0

To this brook Ophelia came one day when she was

unwatched .......

„ x8S

PREFACE

HE following Tales are meant to be submitted

1 to the young reader as an introduction to the
study of Shakspeare, for which purpose his words are
used whenever it seemed possible to bring them in ;
and in whatever has been added to give them the
regular form of a connected story, diligent care has
been taken to select such words as might least inter-
rupt the effect of the beautiful English tongue in
which he wrote : therefore, words introduced into
our language since his time have been as far as possible
avoided.

In those tales which have been taken from the
Tragedies, the young readers will perceive, when they
come to see the source from which these stories are
derived, that Shakspeare’s own words, with little
alteration, recur very frequently in the narrative as
well as in the dialogue ; but in those made from the
Comedies the writers found themselves scarcely ever
able to turn his words into the narrative form : there-
fore it is feared that, in them, dialogue has been made
use of too frequently for young people not accustomed
to the dramatic form of writing. But this fault, if it
be a fault, has been caused by an earnest wish to give
as much of Shakspeare’s own words as possible : and
if the He sa 'id^'^ and ^he said^’* the question and
the reply, should sometimes seem tedious to their
young ears, they must pardon it, because it was the
only way in which could be given to them a few
hints and little foretastes of the great pleasure which
awaits them in their elder years, when they come to
the rich treasures from which these small and value-

2

Preface

less coins are extracted ; pretending to no other merit
than as faint and imperfect stamps of Shakspeare's
matchless image. Faint and imperfect images they
must be called, because the beauty of his language is
too frequently destroyed by the necessity of changing
many of his excellent words into words far less ex-
pressive of his true sense, to make it read something
like prose ; and even in some few places, where his
blank verse is given unaltered, as hoping from its
simple plainness to cheat the young readers into the
belief that they are reading prose, yet still his language
being transplanted from its own natural soil and wild
poetic garden, it must want much of its native beauty.

It has been wished to make these Tales easy read-
ing for very young children. To the utmost of their
ability the writers have constantly kept this in mind ;
but the subjects of most of them made this a very
difficult task. It was no easy matter to give the
histories of men and women in terms familiar to the
apprehension of a very young mind. For young
ladies too, it has been the intention chiefly to write 5
because boys being generally permitted the use of
their fathers’ libraries at a much earlier age than girls
are, they frequently have the best scenes of Shakspeare
by heart, before their sisters are permitted to look into
this manly book ; and, therefore, instead of recom-
mending these Tales to the perusal of young gentle-
men who can read them so much better in the
originals, their kind assistance is rather requested in
explaining to their sisters such parts as are hardest for
them to understand : and when they have helped
them to get over the difficulties, then perhaps they
will read to them (carefully selecting what is proper
for a young sister’s ear) some passage which has pleased
them in one of these stories, in the very words of the
scene from which it is taken ; and it is hoped they
will find that the beautiful extracts, the select passages,

Preface

3

they may choose to give their sisters in this way will
be much better relished and understood from their
having some notion of the general story from one
of these imperfect abridgments ; — which if they be
fortunately so done as to prove delightful to any of
the young readers, it is hoped that no worse effect
will result than to make them wish themselves a little
older, that they m.ay be allowed to read the Plays at
full length (such a wish will be neither peevish nor
irrational). When time and leave of judicious friends
shall put them into their hands, they will discover in
such of them as are here abridged (not to mention
almost as many more, which are left untouched)
many surprising events and turns of fortune, which
for their infinite variety could not be contained in
this little book, besides a world of sprightly and cheer-
ful characters, both men and women, the humour of
which it was feared would be lost if it were attempted
to reduce the length of them.

What these Tales shall have been to the young
readers, that and much more it is the writers’ wish
that the true Plays of Shakspeare may prove to them
in older years — enrichers of the fancy, strengtheners
of virtue, a withdrawing from all selfish and mer-
cenary thoughts, a lesson of all sweet and honourable
thoughts and actions, to teach courtesy, benignity,
generosity, humanity : for of examples, teaching these
virtues, his pages are full.

THE TEMPEST

HERE was a certain island in the sea, the only

1 inhabitants of which were an old man, whose
name was Prospero, and his daughter Miranda, a very
beautiful young lady. She came to this island so
young, that she had no memory of having seen any
other human face than her father’s.

They lived in a cave or cell, made out of a rock ;
it was divided into several apartments, one of which
Prospero called his study ; there he kept his books,
which chiefly treated of magic, a study at that time
much affected by all learned men : and the know-
ledge of this art he found very useful to him ; for
being thrown by a strange chance upon this island,
which had been enchanted by a witch called Sycorax,
who died there a short time before his arrival, Pros-
pero, by virtue of his art, released many good spirits
that Sycorax had imprisoned in the bodies of large
trees, because they had refused to execute her wicked
commands. These gentle spirits were ever after
obedient to the will of Prospero. Of these Ariel was
the chief.

The lively little sprite Ariel had nothing mischiev-
ous in his nature, except that he took rather too much
pleasure: in tormenting an ugly monster called Caliban,
for he owed him a grudge because he was the son
of his old enemy Sycorax. This Caliban, Prospero
found in the woods, a strange misshapen thing, far
less human in form than an ape : he took him home
to his cell, and taught him to speak ; and Prospero
would have been very kind to him, but the bad
nature which Caliban inherited from his mother

5

B

6

Tales from Shakspeare

Sycorax, would not let him learn anything good or
useful : therefore he was employed like a slave, to
fetch wood, and do the most laborious offices ; and
Ariel had the charge of compelling him to these
services.

When Caliban was lazy and neglected his work,
Ariel (who was invisible to all eyes but Prospero’s)
would come slily and pinch him, and sometimes
tumble him down in the mire ; and then Ariel, in
the likeness of an ape, would make mouths at him.
Then swiftly changing his shape, in the likeness of a
hedgehog, he would lie tumbling in Caliban’s way,
who feared the hedgehog’s sharp quills would prick
his bare feet. With a variety of such-like vexatious
tricks Ariel would often torment him, whenever
Caliban neglected the work which Prospero com-
manded him to do.

Having these powerful spirits obedient to his will,
Prospero could by their means command the winds,
and the waves of the sea. By his orders they raised
a violent storm, in the midst of which, and struggling
with the wild sea-waves that every moment threatened
to swallow it up, he showed his daughter a fine large
ship, which he told her was full of living beings like
themselves. ‘‘ O my dear father,” said she, if by
your art you have raised this dreadful storm, have
pity on their sad distress. See ! the vessel will be
dashed to pieces. Poor souls ! they will all perish.
If I had power, I would sink the sea beneath the
earth, rather than the good ship should be destroyed,
with all the precious souls within her.”

Be not so amazed, daughter Miranda,” said
Prospero ; there is no harm done. I have so
ordered it, that no person in the ship shall receive
any hurt. What I have done has been in care of
you, my dear child. You are ignorant who you are,
or where you came from, and you know no more of

7

The Tempest

me, but that I am your father, and live in this poor
cave. Can you remember a time before you came to
this cell ? I think you cannot, for you 'were not then
three years of age.”

Certainly 1 can, sir,” replied Miranda.

By what ? ” asked Prospero ; “ by any other
house or person ? Tell me what you can remember,
my child.”

Miranda said, ^Tt seems to me like the recollection
of a dream. But had I not once four or five women
who attended upon me ? ”

Prospero answered, You had, and more. How
is it that this still lives in your mind ? Do you
remember how you came here ? ”

“No, sir,” said Miranda, “I remember nothing
more.”

“ Twelve years ago, Miranda,” continued Pros-
pero, “ I was duke of Milan, and you were a princess,
and my only heir. I had a younger brother, whose
name was Antonio, to whom I trusted everything ;
and as I was fond of retirement and deep study, I
commonly left the management of my state affairs
to your uncle, my false brother (for so indeed he
proved). I, neglecting all worldly ends, buried
among my books, did dedicate my whole time to the
bettering of my mind. My brother Antonio being
thus in possession of my power, began to think him-
self the duke indeed. The opportunity I gave him
of making himself popular among my subjects awak-
ened in his bad nature a proud ambition to deprive
me of my dukedom : this he soon effected with the
aid of the king of Naples, a pov/erful prince, who was
my enemy.”

“ Wherefore,” said Miranda, “ did they not that
hour destroy us ? ”

“ My child,” answered her father, “ they durst not,
so dear was the love that my people bore me.

8 Tales from Shakspeare

Antonio carried us on board a ship, and when we
were some leagues out at sea, he forced us into a small
boat, without either tackle, sail, or mast : there he
left us, as he thought, to perish. But a kind lord of
my court, one Gonzalo, who loved me, had privately
placed in the boat, water, provisions, apparel, and
some books which I prize above my dukedom.”

O my father,” said Miranda, “ what a trouble
must I have been to you then ! ”

No, my love,” said Prospero, ‘‘ you were a little
cherub that did preserve me. Your innocent smiles
made me bear up against my misfortunes. Our food
lasted till we landed on this desert island, since when
my chief delight has been in teaching you, Miranda,
and well have you profited by my instructions.”

Heaven thank you, my dear father,” said
Miranda. ‘‘ Now pray tell me, sir, your reason for
raising this sea-storm ? ”

“ Know then,” said her father, “ that by means of
this storm, my enemies, the king of Naples, and my
cruel brother, are cast ashore upon this island.”

Having so said, Prospero gently touched his
daughter with his magic wand, and she fell fast
asleep ; for the spirit Ariel just then presented him-
self before his master, to give an account of the
tempest, and how he had disposed of the ship’s com-
pany, and though the spirits were always invisible to
Miranda, Prospero did not choose she should hear
him holding converse (as would seem to her) with the
empty air.

“Well, my brave spirit,” said Prospero to Ariel,
“ how have you performed your task ? ”

Ariel gave a lively description of the storm, and of
the terrors of the mariners ; and how the king’s son,
Ferdinand, was the first who leaped into the sea ; and
his father thought he saw his dear son swallowed up
by the waves and lost. “ But he is safe,” said Ariel,

9

The Tempest

in a corner of the isle, sitting with his arms folded,
sadly lamenting the loss of the king, his father, whom
he concludes drowned. Not a hair of his head is
injured, and his princely garments, though drenched
in the sea-waves, look fresher than before.”

“ That’s my delicate Ariel,” said Prospero.
“ Bring him hither : my daughter must see this
young prince. Where is the king, and my
brother ? ”

I left them,” answered Ariel, searching for
Ferdinand, whom they have little hopes of finding,
thinking they saw him perish. Of the ship’s crew
not one is missing ; though each one thinks himself
the only one saved : and the ship, though invisible to
them, is safe in the harbour.”

Ariel,” said Prospero, “ thy charge is faithfully
performed ; but there is more work yet.”

Is there more work ? ” said Ariel. Let me

remind you, master, you have promised me my
liberty. I pray, remember, I have done you worthy
service, told you no lies, made no mistakes, served
you without grudge or grumbling.”

How now ! ” said Prospero. ‘‘ Y ou do not
recollect what a torment I freed you from. Have
you forgot the wicked witch Sy corax, who with age
and envy was almost bent double ? * Where was she
born ? Speak ; tell me.”

Sir, in Algiers,” said Ariel.

O was she so ? ” said Prospero. I must re-
count what you have been, which I find you do not
remember. This bad witch, Sycorax, for her witch-
crafts, too terrible to enter human hearing, was
banished from Algiers, and here left by the sailors ;
and because you were a spirit too delicate to execute
her wicked commands, she shut you up in a tree,
where I found )Ou howling. This torm^ent, remem-
ber, I did free you from.”

lo .Tales from Shakspeare

“ Pardon me, dear master,” said Ariel, ashamed to
seem ungrateful ; “ I will obey your commands.”

‘‘ Do so,” said Prospero, “ and I will set you free.”
He then gave orders what further he would have him
do ; and away went Ariel, first to where he had left
Ferdinand, and found him still sitting on the grass in
the same melancholy posture.

“ O my young gentleman,” said Ariel, when he
saw him, ‘‘ 1 will soon move you. You must be
brought, I find, for the Lady Miranda to have a sight
of your pretty person. Come, sir, follow me.” He
then began singing,

“Full fathom five thy father lies:

Of his bones are coral made ;

Those are pearls that were his eyes :

Nothing of him that doth fade,

But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.

Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:

Hark I now 1 hear them, — Ding-dong, bell.”

This Strange news of his lost father soon roused
the prince from the stupid fit into which he had
fallen. He followed in amazement the sound of
Ariel’s voice, till it led him to Prospero and Miranda,
who were sitting under the shade of a large tree.
Now. Miranda had never seen a man before, except
her own father.

“Miranda,” said Prospero, “tell me what you are
looking at yonder.”

“ O father,” said Miranda, in a strange surprise,
“ surely that is a spirit. Lord ! how it looks about !
Believe me, sir, it is a beautiful creature. Is it not a
spirit f ”

“ No, girl,” answered her father ; “ it eats, and
sleeps, and has senses such as we have. This young
man you see was in the ship. He is somewhat
altered by grief, or you might call him a handsome

The Tempest 1 1 '

person. He has lost his companions, and is wander-
ing about to find them.”

Miranda, who thought all men had grave faces and
grey beards like her father, was delighted with the
appearance of this beautiful young prince ; and Ferdi-
nand, seeing such a lovely lady in this desert place,
and from the strange sounds he had heard, expecting
nothing but wonders, thought he was upon an en-
chanted island, and that Miranda was the goddess of
the place, and as such he began to address her.

She timidly answered, she was no goddess, but a
simple maid, and was going to give him an account
of herself, when Prospero interrupted her. He was
well pleased to find they admired each other, for he
plainly perceived they had (as we say) fallen in love
at first sight : but to try Ferdinand’s constancy, he
resolved to throw some difficulties in their way :
therefore advancing forward, he addressed the prince
with a stern air, telling him, he came to the island as
a spy, to take it from him who was the lord of it.
^‘Follow me,” said he, “I will tie you neck and
feet together. You shall drink sea-water; shell-fish,
withered roots, and husks of acorns shall be your
food.” ‘^No,” said Ferdinand, I will resist such
entertainment, till I see a more powerful enemy,”
and drew his sword ; but Prospero, waving his magic
wand, fixed him to the spot where he stood, so that
he had no power to move.

Miranda hung upon her father, saying, “ Why are
you so ungentle ? Have pity, sir ; I will be his
surety. This is the second man I ever saw, and to
me he seems a true one.”

Silence,” said the father : one word more will
make me chide you, girl ! What ! an advocate for
an impostor ! You think there are no more such
fine men, having seen only him and Caliban. I tell
you, foolish girl, most men as far excel this, as he

12

Tales from Shakspeare

does Caliban.” This he said to prove his daughter’s j
constancy ; an3 she replied, ‘‘ My affections are most |
humble. I have no wish to see a goodlier man.”

“ Come on, young man,” said Prospero to the |
Prince ; ‘‘ you have no power to disobey me.” |

“ I have not indeed,” answered Ferdinand ; and |
not knowing that it was by magic he was deprived I
of all power of resistance, he was astonished to find
himself so strangely compelled to follow Prospero :
looking back on Miranda as long as he could see her,
he said, as he went after Prospero into the cave, My !
spirits are all bound up, as if I were in a dream ; but
this man’s threats, and the weakness which I feel,
would seem light to me if from my prison I might
once a day behold this fair maid.”

Prospero kept Ferdinand not long confined within
the cell : he soon brought out his prisoner, and set
him a severe task to perform, taking care to let his
daughter know the hard labour he had imposed on
him, and then pretending to go into his study, he
secretly watched them both.

Prospero had commanded Ferdinand to pile up
some heavy logs of wood. Kings’ sons not being
much used to laborious work, Miranda soon after
found her lover almost dying with fatigue. Alas ! ”
said she, do not work so hard ; my father is at his
studies, he is safe for these three hours ; pray rest
yourself.”

‘‘O my dear lady,” said Ferdinand, ‘‘I dare not.

I must finish my task before I take my rest.”

“ If you will sit down,” said Miranda, “ I will
carry your logs the while.” But this Ferdinand
would by no means agree to. Instead of a help
Miranda became a hindrance, for they began a long
conversation, so that the business of log-carrying went '
on very slowly.

Prospero, who had enjoined Ferdinand this task

13

The Tempest

merely as a trial of his love, was not at his hooks,
as his daughter supposed, but was standing by them
invisible, to overhear what they said.

Ferdinand inquired her name, which she told,
saying it was against her father’s express command
she did so.

Prospero only smiled at this first instance of his
daughter’s disobedience, for having by his magic art
caused his daughter to fall in love so suddenly, he
was not angry that she showed her love by forgetting
to obey his commands. And he listened well pleased
to a long speech of Ferdinand’s, in which he professed
to love her above all the ladies he ever saw.

In answer to his praises of her beauty, which he
said exceeded all the women in the world, she replied,
do not remember the face of any woman, nor
have I seen any more men than you, my good friend,
and my dear father. How features are abroad, I
know not ; but, believe me, sir, I would not wish
any companion in the world but you, nor can my
imagination form any shape but yours that I could
like. But, sir, I fear I talk to you too freely, and
my father’s precepts I forget.”

At this Prospero smiled, and nodded his head, as
much as to say, ‘‘This goes on exactly as I could
wish ; my girl will be queen of Naples.”

And then Ferdinand, in another fine long speech
(for young princes speak in courtly phrases), told the
innocent Miranda he was heir to the crown of Naples,
and that she should be his queen.

“ Ah ! sir,” said she, “ I am a fool to weep at
what I am glad of. I will answer you in plain and
holy innocence. I am your wife if you will marry
me.

Prospero prevented Ferdinand’s thanks by appearing
visible before them.

“Fear nothing, my child,” said he ; “I have over-

14 Tales from Shakspeare

heard, and approve of all you have said. And,
Ferdinand, if I have too severely used you, I will
make you rich amends, by giving you my daughter.
All your vexations were but trials of your love, and
you have nobly stood the test. Then as my gift,
which your true love has worthily purchased, take
my daughter, and do not smile that I boast she is
above all praise.” He then, telling them that he had
business which required his presence, desired they
would sit down and talk together till he returned ;
and this command Miranda seemed not at all disposed
to disobey.

When Prospero left them, he called his spirit Ariel,
who quickly appeared before him, eager to relate what
he had done with Prospero’s brother and the king of
Naples. Ariel said he had left them almost out of
their senses with fear, at the strange things he had
caused them to see and hear. When fatigued with
wandering about, and famished for want of food, he
had suddenly set before them a delicious banquet, and
then, just as they were going to eat, he appeared
visible before them in the shape of a harpy, a voracious
monster with wings, and the feast vanished away.
Then, to their utter amazement, this seeming harpy
spoke to them, reminding them of their cruelty in
driving Prospero from his dukedom, and leaving him
and his infant daughter to perish in the sea ; saying,
that for this cause these terrors were suffered to afflict
them.

The king of Naples, and Antonio the false brother,
repented the injustice they had done to Prospero ;
and Ariel told his master he was certain their
penitence was sincere, and that he, though a spirit,
could not but pity them.

“ Then bring them hither, Ariel,” said Prospero :

if you, who are but a spirit, feel for their distress,
shall not I, who am a human being like themselves,

The Tempest 15

have compassion on them ? Bring them, quickly,
my dainty Ariel.”

Ariel soon returned with the king, Antonio, and
old Gonzalo in their train, who had followed him,
wondering at the wild music he played in the air
to draw them on to his master’s presence. This
Gonzalo was the same who had so kindly provided
Prospero formerly with books and provisions, when
his wicked brother left him, as he thought, to perish
in an open boat in the sea.

Grief and terror had so stupefied their senses, that
they did not know. Prospero. He first discovered
himself to the good old Gonzalo, calling him the
preserver of his life ; and then his brother and the
king knew that he was the injured Prospero.

Antonio with tears, and sad words of sorrow and
true repentance, implored his brother’s forgiveness,
and the king expressed his sincere remorse for having
assisted Antonio to depose his brother : and Prospero
forgave them ; and, upon their engaging to restore
his dukedom, he said to the king of Naples, “ I have
a gift in store for you too ” ; and opening a door,
showed him his son Ferdinand playing at chess with
Miranda.

Nothing could exceed the joy of the father and
the son at this unexpected meeting, for they each
thought the other drowned in the storm.

“ O wonder ! ” said Miranda, “ what noble
creatures these are ! It must surely be a brave
world that has such people in it.”

The king of Naples was almost as much astonished
at the beauty and excellent graces of the young
Miranda, as his son had been. Who is this maid ? ”
said he ; she seems the goddess that has parted us,
and brought us thus together.” ‘^No, sir,” answered
Ferdinand, smiling to find his father had fallen into
the same mistake that he had done when he first saw

i6 Tales from Shakspeare j

Miranda, ‘‘ she is a mortal, but by immortal Provi-
dence she is mine ; I chose her when I could not ask
you, my father, for your consent, not thinking you j
were alive. She is the daughter to this Prospero, ^

who is the famous duke of Milan, of whose renown ^

I have heard so much, but never saw him till now ; j

of him I have received a new life : he has made him- |

self to me a second father, giving me this dear lady.” I

‘‘ Then I must be her father,” said the king ; “ but |
oh ! how oddly will it sound, that I must ask my j
child forgiveness.”

‘‘No more of that,” said Prospero: “let us not
remember our troubles past, since they so happily
have ended.” And then Prospero embraced his
brother, and again assured him of his forgiveness ;
and said that a wise over-ruling Providence had
permitted that he should be driven from his poor
dukedom of Milan, that his daughter might inherit
the crown of Naples, for that by their meeting in
this desert island, it had happened that the king’s
son had loved Miranda.

These kind words which Prospero spoke, meaning
to comfort his brother, so filled Antonio with shame
and remorse, that he wept and was unable to speak ;
and the kind old Gonzalo wept to see this joyful recon-
ciliation, and prayed for blessings on the young couple.

Prospero now told them that their ship was safe
in the harbour, and the sailors all on board her, and
that he and his daughter would accompany them
home the next morning. “In the meantime,” says
he, “ partake of such refreshments as my poor cave
affords ; and for your evening’s entertainment I will
relate the history of my life from my first landing in
this desert island.’* He then called for Caliban to
prepare some food, and set the cave in order ; and the
company were astonished at the uncouth form and
savage appearance of this ugly monster, who (Prospero

The Tempest 17

said) was the only attendant he had to wait upon
him.

Before Prospero left the island, he dismissed Ariel
from his service, to the great joy of that lively little
spirit ; who, though he had been a faithful servant
to his master, was always longing to enjoy his free
liberty, to wander uncontrolled in the air, like a wild
bird, under green trees, among pleasant fruits, and
sweet-smelling flowers. “ My quaint Ariel,” said
Prospero to the little sprite when he made him free,
‘‘ I shall miss you ; yet you shall have your freedom.”

Thank you, my dear master,” said Ariel ; ‘‘ but
give me leave to attehd your ship home with prosper-
ous gales, before you bid farewell to the assistance of
your faithful spirit ; and then, master, when I am
free, how merrily I shall live ! ” Here Ariel sung
this pretty song :

Where the bee sucks, there suck I ;

In a cowslip’s bell I lie :

I'here I crouch when owls do cry
On the bat’s back I do fly
After summer merrily.

Merrily, merrily shall I live now
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.”

Prospero then buried deep in the earth his magical
books and wand, for he was resolved never more to
make use of the magic art. And having thus over-
come his enemies, and being reconciled to his brother
and the king of Naples, nothing now remained to
complete his happiness, but to revisit his native land,
to take possession of his dukedom, and to witness the\
happy nuptials of his daughter and Prince Ferdinand,
which the king said should be instantly celebrated
with great splendour on their return to Naples. At
which place, under the safe convoy of the spirit Ariel,
they, after a pleasant voyage, soon arrived.

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM

There was a law in the city of Athens which
gave to its citizens the power of propelling
their daughters to marry whomsoever they pleased ;
'lor upon a daughter’s*" refusing~to marry the~man her
father had chosen to be her husband, the father was
empowered by this law to cause her to ^„^ut to
, death ; but as fathers do not often desire the death"
of their own daughters, even though they do happen
to prove a little refractory, this law was seldom or
never put in execution, though perhaps the young
ladies of that city were not unfrequently threatened
by their parents with the terrors of it.

There was one instance, however, of an old man,
whose name was Egeus, who actually did come before
Theseus (at that time the reigning Duke of Athens),
to complain that his daughter Hermia, whom he had
commanded to marry Demetrius, a young man of a
noble Athenian family, refused to obey him, because
she loved another young Athenian, named Lysander.
Egeus demanded justice of Theseus, and desired that
this cruel law might be put in force against his
daughter.

Hermia pleaded in excuse for her disobedieiftce,
that Demetrius had formerly professed love foriJher
dear friend Helena, and that Helena loved Demdtrius
to distraction ; but this honourable reason, wliich
Hermia gave for not obeying her father’s command,
moved not the stern Egeus.

Theseus, though a great and merciful prince, had
no power to alter the laws of his country ; therefore
he could only give Hermia four days to consider of

i8

A Midsummer Night’s Dream 19

it : and at the end of that time, if she still refused
to marry Demetrius, she was to be put to death.

When Hermia was dismissed from the presence of
the duke, she went to her lover Lysander, and told
him the peril she was in, and that she must either
give him up and marry Demetrius, or lose her life
in four days.

Lysander was in great affliction at hearing these
evil tidings ; but recollecting that he had an aunt
who lived at some distance from Athens, and that at
the place where she lived the cruel law could not be
put in force against Hermia (this law not extending
beyond the boundaries of the city), he proposed to
Hermia that she should steal out of her father’s house
that night, and go with him to his aunt’s house^
where he would marry her. ‘‘I will meet you,”
said Lysander, in the wood a few miles without the
city ; in that delightful wood where we have so often
walked with Helena in the pleasant month of May.”

To this proposal Hermia joyfully agreed ; and she
told no one of her intended flight but her friend
Helena. Helena (as maidens will do foolish things
for love) very ungenerously resolved to go and tell
this to Demetrius^ though she could hope no benefit
from betraying her friend’s secret, but the poor plea-
sure of following her faithless lover to the wood ; for
she well knew that Demetrius would go thither in
pursuit of Hermia.

The wood, in which Lysander and Hermia pro-
posed to meet was the favourite haunt of those little
beings known by the name of Fairies.

Oberon the king, and Titania the queen of the
Fairies, with all their tiny train of followers, in this
wood held their midnight revels.

Between this little king and queen of sprites there
happened, at this time, a sad disagreement ; they
never met by moonlight in the shady walks of this

20 Tales from Shakspeare

■p \

pleasant wood, but they were quarrelling, till all their
fairy elves would creep into acorn-cups and hide
themselves for fear.

The cause of this unhappy disagreement was
Titanja’s refusing to give Oberon a little change-
ling boy, whose mother haJ been ^Titan ia’s friend ;
and upon her death the fairy queen stole the child
from its nurse, and brought him up in the woods. i

The night on which the lovers were to meet in j
this wood, as Titania was walking with some of her
maids of honour, she met Oberon attended by his
train of fairy courtiers.

‘‘ 111 met by moonlight, proud Titania,” said the
fairy king. The queen replied, “What, jealous
Oberon, is it you? Fairies, skip hence; I have
forsworn his company.” “Tarry, rash fairy,” said
Oberon ; “am not I thy lord ? Why does Titania
cross her Oberon ? Give me your little changeling
boy to be my page.”

“ Set your heart at rest,” answered the queen ;

“ vour whole fairy kingdom buys not the boy of
me.” She then left her lord in great anger. “Well,
go your way,” said Oberon : “ before the morning
dawns I will torment you for this injury.”

Oberon then sent for Puck, his chief favourite
and privy counsellor.

Puck, (or as he was sometimes called, Robin Good-
fellow) was a shrewd and knavish sprite, that used to
play comical pranks in the neighbouring villages ;
sometimes getting into the dairies and skimming the
milk, sometimes plunging his light and airy form into
the butter-churn, and while he was dancing his
fantastic shape in the churn, in vain the dairy-maid
would labour to change her cream into butter : noi
had the village swains any better success ; whenever
Puck chose to play his freaks in the brewing copper,
the ale was sure to be spoiled. When a few good

A Midsummer Night’s Dream 21

70S,b

neighbours were met to drink some comfortable ale
together, Puck would jump into the bowl of ale in
the likeness of a roasted crab, and when some old
goody was going to drink he would bob against her
lips, and spill the ale over her withered chin ; and
presently after^ when the same old dame was gravely
seating herself to tell her neighbours a sad and
melancholy story. Puck would slip her three-legged
stool from under her, and down toppled the poor old
woman, and then the old gossips would hold their
sides and laugh at her, and swear they never wasted
a merrier hour.

Come hither. Puck,” said Oberon to this little
merry wanderer of the night ; fetch me the flower
which maids call in • the juice of that

little purple flower laid on the eyelids of those who
sleep, will make them, when they awake, dote on
the first thing they see. Some of the juice of that
flower I will droj? on the .eyelids of my Titania
when she is asleep ; and the first thing she looks upon
when she opens her eyes she will fall in love with,
even though it be a lion or a bear, a meddling monkey,
or a busy ape ; and before I will take this charm from
off her sight, which I can do with another charm I
know of, I will make her give me that boy to be
my page.”

Puck, who loved mischief to his heart, was highly
diverted with this intended frolic of his master, and
ran to seek the flower ; and while Oberon was wait-
ing the return of Puck, he observed Demetrius and
Helena enter the wood : he overheard Demetrius
reproaching Helena for following him, and after
many unkind words on his part, and gentle expos-
tulations from Helena, reminding him of his former
love and professions of true faith to her, he left her
(as he said) to the mercy of the wild beasts, and
she ran after him as swiftly as she could.

c

22 Tales from Shakspeare

The fairy king, who was always friendly to true i
lovers, felt great compassion for Helena ; and per- !
haps, as Lysander said they used to walk by moon-
light in this pleasant wood, Oberon might have seen
Helena in those happy times when she was beloved
by Demetrius. However that might be, when
Puck returned with the little purple flower, Oberon i
said to his favourite, ‘‘Take a part of this flower^ ;
there has been a sweet Athenian lady here, who is
in love with a disdainful youth ; if you find him
sleeping, drop some of the love-juice in his eyes,. ,
but contrive to do it when she is near him, that :
the first thing he sees when he awakes may be
this despised lady. You will know the man by the
Athenian garments which he wears.” Puck promised
to manage this matter very dexterously : and then
Oberon went, unperceived by Titania, to her bower^
where she was preparing to go to rest. Her fairy
bower was a bank, where grew wild thyme, cowslips^
and sweet violets, under a canopy of wood-bine, musk-
roses, and eglantine. There Titania always slept
some part of the night ; her coverlet the enamelled
skin of a snake, which, though a small mantle, was-
wide enough to wrap a fairy in.

He found Titania giving orders to her fairies, how
they were to employ themselves while she slept.

“ Some of you,” said her majesty, “ must kill cankers
in the musk-rose buds, and some wage war with the
bats for their leathern wings, to make my small elves
coats ; and some of you keep watch that the clamor-
ous owl, that nightly hoots, come not near me : but
first sing me to sleep.” Then they began to sing this
song

“You spotted snakes with double tongucj^

1 horny hedgehogs, be not seen ;

Newts and blind-worms do no wrong
Come not near our Fairy Queen

A Midsummer Night’s Dream 23

Philomel, with melody,

Sing in our sweet lullaby,

Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby;

Never harm, nor spell, nor charm,

Come our lovely lady nigh ;

So good night with lullaby.”

When the fairies had sung their queen asleep with
this pretty lullaby, they left her to perform the im-
portant services she had enjoined them. Oberon
then softly drew near his Titania, and dropped some
of the love-juice on her eyelids, saying,—^'

“ What thou seest when thou dost wake.

Do it for thy true-love take.”

But to return to Hermia, who made her escape out
of her father’s house that night, to avoid the death
she was doomed to for refusing to marry Demetrius.
When she entered the wood, she found her dear
Lysander waiting for her, to conduct her to his aunt’s
house ; but before they had passed half through the
wood, Hermia was so much fatigued, that Lysander,
who was very careful of this dear lady, who had
proved her affection for him even by hazarding her
life for his sake, persuaded her to rest till morning on
a bank of soft moss, and lying down himself on the
ground at some little distance, they soon fell fast
asleep. Here they were found by Puck, who, seeing
a handsome young man asleep, and perceiving that
his clothes were made in the Athenian fashion, and
that a pretty lady was sleeping near him, concluded
that this must be the Athenian maid and her disdain-
ful lover whom Oberon had sent him to seek ; and
he naturally enough conjectured that, as they were
alone together, she must be the first thing he would
see when he awoke ; so, without more ado, he pro-
ceeded to pour some of the juice of the little purple
flower into his cyes^ But it so fell out, that Helena^
came that way, and, instead of Hermia, was the first

24 Tales from Shakspeare

when he opened his eyes ;
and strange to relate, so powerful was the love-charm,
all his love for Hermia vanished away, and Lysander ^
fell in love with Helena..,.^

Had he first seen Hermia when he awoke, the
blunder Puck committed would have been of no con-
sequence, for he could not love that faithful lady too
well ; but for poor Lysander to be forced by a fairy
love-charm to forget his own true Hermia, and to run
after another lady, and leave Hermia asleep quite alone
in a wood at midnight, was a sad chance indeed.

Thus this misfortune happened. Helena, as has
been before related, endeavoured to keep pace with
Demetrius when he ran away so rudely from her ;
but she could not continue this unequal race long,
men being always better runners in a long race than
ladies. Helena soon lost sight of Demetrius ; and as
she was wandering about, dejected and forlorn, she
arrived at the place where Lysander was sleeping.

“ Ah ! ” said she, this is Lysander lying on the
ground: is he dead or asleep?” Then, gently
touching him, she said, ‘‘ Good sir, if you are alive,
awake.” Upon this Lysander opened his eyes, and
(the love-charm beginning to work) immediately
addressed her in terms of extravagant love and admira-
tion ; telling her she as much excelled Hermia in
beauty as a dove does a raven, and that he would run
through fire for her sweet sake ; and many more such
lover-like speeches. Helena, knowing Lysander was
her friend Hermia’s lover, and that he was solemnly
engaged to marry her, was in the utmost rage when
she heard herself addressed in this manner ; for she
thought (as well she might) that Lysander was making
a jest of her. ‘‘ Oh ! ” said she, ^^^hy was I born
Xo bejmocked and scorned by every ^neF Is iL nof
enough, ls~ it not enough, young man, that I can '
never get a sweet look or a kind word from Deme

A Midsummer Night’s Dream 25

trius ; but you, sir, must pretend in this disdainful
manner to court me ? I thought, Lysander, you were
a lord of more true gentleness.” Saying these words
in great anger, she ran away ; and Lysander followed
her, quite forgetful of his own Hermia, who was still
asleep.

When Hermia awoke, she was in a sad fright at
finding herself alone. She wandered about the wood,
rioT knowing what was become of Lysander, or
which way to go to seek for him. In the meantime
Demetrius not being able to find Hermia and his
rival Lysander, and fatigued with his fruitless search,
was observed by Oberon fast asleep. Oberon had
learnt by some questions he had asked of Puck, that
he had applied the love-charm to the wrong person’s
eyes ; and now having found the person first intended,
he touched the eyelids of the sleeping Demetrius with
the love-juice, and he instantly awoke ; and the first
thing he saw being Helena, he, as Lysander had done
before, began to addr^s love-speeches to her ; and
just at that moment Lysander, followed by Hermia
(for through Puck’s unlucky mistake it was now
become Hermia’s turn to run after her lover) made his
appearance ; and then Lysander and Demetrius, both
speaking together, made love to Helena, they being
each one under the influence of the same potent
charm.

The astonished Helena thought that Demetrius,
Lysander, and her once dear friend Hermia, were
all in a plot, togethgr^to make a jest of her. ^

Hermia was as much surprised as Helena : she
knew not why Lysander and Demetrius, who both
before loved her, were now become the lovers of
Helena ; and to Hermia the matter seemed to be qq
Jest.

The ladies, who before had always been the dearest
of friends, now fell to high words together.

26 Tales from Shakspeare

‘‘Unkind Hermia,” said Helena, “it is you have
set Lysander on to vex me with mock praises ; and
your other lover Demetrius, who used almost to spurn
me with his foot, have you not bid him call me
Goddess, Nymph, rare, precious, and celestial ? He
would not speak thus to me, whom he hates, if you
did not set him on to make a jest of me. Unkind
Hermia, to join with men in scorning your poor
friend. Have you forgot our school-day friendship?
How often, Hermia, have we two, sitting on one
cushion, both singing one song, with our needles
working the same flower, both on the same sampler
wrought ; growing up together in fashion of a double
cherry, scarcely seeming parted ! Hermia, it is not
friendly in you, it is not maidenly to join with men
in scorning your poor friend.

“I am amazed at your passionate words,” said
Hermia : “ I scorn you not ; it seems you scorn me.”

“ Ay, do,” returned Helena, “ persevere, counterfeit
serious looks, and make mouths at me when I turn
my back ; then wink at each other, and hold the
sweet jest up. If you had any pity, grace, or manners,
you would not use me thus.”

While Helena and Hermia were speaking these
angry words to each other, Demetrius and Lysander
left them, to fight together in the wood for the love
of Helena.

When they found the gentlemen had left them,
they departed, and once more wandered weary in the
wood in search of their lovers.

As soon as they were gone, the fairy king, who
with little Puck had been listening to their quarrels,
said to him, “This is your negligence. Puck; or
did you do this wilfully ? ” “ Believe me, king of

shadows,” answered Puck, “it was a mistake; did •
not you tell me I should know the man by his
Athenian garments? However, I am not sorry

A Midsummer Night’s Dream 27

this has happened, for I think their jangling makes
excellent sport.” ‘‘You heard,” said O heron, “that
Demetrius and Lysander are gone to seek a convenient
place to fight in. X command .^ou to overhang the,_
njight with a thick fogo and lead these quarrelsome
lovers so astray-in the dark, that they shall not be able
to find each other. Counterfeit each of their voices
to the other, and with bitter taunts provoke them to
follow you, while they think it is their rival’s tongue
they hear. .See you do this, till they are so weary
they can go no farther ; and when you find they are
asleep, drop the juice of this other flower into
Lysander!su-,eyes, and when he awakes he will forget
his new love for Helena, and return to his old passion
for Hermia ; and then the two fair ladies may each
one be happy with the man she loves, and they will
think all that has passed a vexatious dream. About
this quickly, Puck, and I will go and see what sweet
love my Titania has found.”

Xitania was still sleeping, and Oberon seeing a
rfear her, who had lost his way in the wood,
and was likewise asleep : “ This fellow,” said he,

“ shall be my Titania’s true love ” ; and clapping an
ass’s head over the clown’s, it seemed to fit him as
well as if it had grown upon his own shoulders.
Though Oberon fixed the ass’s head on very gently,
it awakened him, and rising up, unconscious of what
Oberon had done to him, he went towards the bower
where the fairy queen slept.

“ Ah ! what angel is that I see ? ” said Titania,
opening her eyes, and the juice of the little purple
flower beginning to take effect : “ are you as wise as
you are beautiful ? ”

“'Why, mistress,” said the foolish clown, “ if I
have wit enough to find the way out of this wood, I
have enough to serve my turn.”

“ Out of the wood do not desire to go,” said the

28 Tales from Shakspeare

enamoured queen. ‘‘ I am a spirit of no common
rate. I love you. Go with me, and I will give you
fairies to attend upon you.”

She then called^jfbur^ of her fairies : their names
were, Pease-blossom, Cobweb, Moth, and Mustard-
seed.

“ Attend,” said the queen, upon this sweet gentle-
man ; hop in his walks, and gambol in his sight ;
feed him with grapes and apricots, and steal for him
the honey-bags from the bees. Come, sit with me,”
said she to the clown, “ and let me play with your
amiable hairy cheeks, my beautiful ass ! and kiss your
fair large ears, my gentle joy ! ”

“ Where is Pease-blossom ? ” said the ass-headed
clown, not much regarding the fairy queen’s court-
ship, but very proud of his new attendants.

“ Here, sir,” said little Pease-blossom.

“ Scratch my head,” said the clown. Where is
Cobweb ? ”

‘‘ Here, sir,” said Cobweb.

“ Good Mr Cobweb,” said the foolish clown,
“ kill me the red humble bee on the top of that
thistle yonder ; and, good Mr Cobweb, bring me the
honey-bag. Do not fret yourself too much in the
action, Mr Cobweb, and take care the honey-bag
break not ; I should be sorry to have you overflown
with a honey-bag. Where is Mustard-seed ? ”

“ Here, sir,” said Mustard-seed ; “ what is your
will ? ”

“ Nothing,” said the clown, “ good Mr Mustard-
seed, but to help Mr Pease-blossom to scratch ; I
must go to a barber’s, Mr Mustard-seed, for me-
thinks I am marvellous hairy about the face.”

“ My sweet love,” said the queen, ‘‘what will you
have to eat ? I have a venturous fairy shall seek
the squirrel’s hoard, and fetch you some new
nuts.”

Where is Pease-blossom ?

I ■

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' ‘ ‘ ri:

t-\~. . - s. ' 'V •

- ■ I-

r ■ ■

i j

r.

iL>«. ■

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■ Wl

■Xl]

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

I had rather have a handful of dried pease,” said
the clown, who with his ass’s head had got an ass’s
appetite. “ But, I pray, let none of your people
disturb me, for I have a mind to sleep.”

Sleep, then,” said the queen, ‘‘and I will wind
you in my arms. O how I love you ! how I dote
upon you ! ”

When the fairy king sayv^ the clown sleeping in the
arms of his queen, he'advanced within her sight, and
repro^hed her with having lavished her favours upon
an ass.

^""TT^is she could not deny, as the clown was then
sleeping within her arms, with his ass’s head crowned
by her with flowers.

When Oberon had teased her for some time, he
again demanded the changeling boy ; which she,
ashamed of being discovered by her lord with her
new favourite, did not dare to refuse him.

Oberon, having thus obtained the little^ boy— he
h^so long wished for to be his page, took pity on
the disgraceful situation into which, by his merry
contrivance, he had brought his Titania, and threw
some of the juice of the other flower into her eyes ;
and the fairy queen immediately recovered Jier-sense^Sj-
and wondered at her late dotage, saying how she
now loathed the sight of the strange monster.

Oberon likewise took the ass’s head from oiF the
clown, and left him to finish his nap with his own
fool’s head upon his shoulders.

Oberon and his Titania being now perfectly recon-
ciled, he related to her the history of the lovers, and
their midnight quarrels ; and she agreed to go with
him and see the end of their adventures.

The fairy king and queen found the lovers and
their fair ladies, at no great distance from each other,
sleeping on a grass-plot ; for Puck, to make amends
for his former mistake, had contrived with the utmost

30 Tales from Shakspeare

diligence to bring them all to the same spot, unknown t
to each other ; and he had carefully removed the 1
charm from off the eyes of Lysander with the (
antidote the fairy king gave to him. i

Hermia first awoke, and finding her lost Lysander
asleep so near her, was looking at him and wonder-
ing at his strange inconstancy. Lysander presently
opening his eyes, and seeing his dear Hermia, re- j
covered his reason which the fairy charm had before
clouded, and with his reason, his love for Hermia ;
and they began to talk over the adventures of the
night, doubting if these things had really happened,
or if they had both been dreaming the same bewilder-
ing dream.

Helena and Demetrius were by this time awake ;
and a sweet sleep having quieted Helena’s disturbed
and angry spirits, she listened with delight to the
professions of love which Demetrius still made to
her, and which, to her surprise as well as pleasure, she
began to perceive were sincere.

These fair night-wandering ladies, now no longer
rivals, became once more true friends ; all the unkind
v/ords which had passed were forgiven, and they
calmly consulted together what was best to be done
in their present situation. It was soon agreed that,
as Demetrius had given up his pretensions to Hermia,
he should endeavour to prevail upon her father to
revoke the cruel sentence of death which had been
passed against her. Demetrius was preparing to
return to Athens for this friendly purpose, when they
were surprised with the sight of Egeus, Hermia’s
father, who came to the wood in pursuit of his run-
away daughter.

When Egeus understood that Demetrius would
not now marry his daughter, he no longer opposed
her marriage with Lysander, but gave his consent
that they should be wedded on the fourth day from

I A Midsummer Night’s Dream 31

I that time, being the same day on which Hermia had
I been condemned to lose her life ; and on that same
I day Helena joyfully agreed to marry her beloved and
i now faithful Demetrius.

The fairy king and queen, who were invisible
f spectators of this reconciliation, and now saw the
happy ending of the lovers’ history, brought about
through the good offices of Oberon, received so much
pleasure, that these kind spirits resolved to celebrate
the approaching nuptials with sports and revels
throughout their fairy kingdom.

And now, if any are offended with this story of
fairies and their pranks, as judging it incredible and
strange, they have only^to think that they have been
asleep and dreaming, and that all these adventures
were visions which they saw in their sleep : and I
hope none of my readers will be so unreasonable as
to be offended with a pretty harmless Midsumm.er
Night’s Dream.

/ ■ ■ -

THE WINTER’5 TALE

LEONTES, king of Sicily, and his queen, the
beautiful and virtuous Hermione, once lived
in the greatest harmony together. So happy was
Leontes in the love of this excellent lady, that he
had no wish ungratified, except that he sometimes
desired to see again, and to present to his queen,
his old companion and school-fellow, Polixenes, king
of Bohemia. Leontes and Polixenes were brought
up together from their infancy, but being, by the
death of their fathers, called to reign over their
respective kingdoms, they had not met for many
years, though they frequently interchanged gifts,
letters, and loving embassies.

At length, after repeated invitations, Polixenes
came from Bohemia to the Sicilian court, to make
his friend Leontes a visit.

At first this visit gave nothing but pleasure to
Leontes. He recommended the friend of his youth
to the queen’s particular attention, and seemed in the
presence of his dear friend and old companion to have
his felicity quite completed. They talked over old
times ; their school-days and their youthful pranks
were remembered, and recounted to Hermione, who
always took a cheerful part in these conversations.

When, after a long stay, Polixenes was preparing
to depart, Hermione, at the desire of her husband,
joined her entreaties to his that Polixenes would
prolong his visit.

And now began this good queen’s sorrow ; for
Polixenes refusing to stay at the request of Leontes,
was won over by Hermione’s gentle and persuasive

3^

The Winter’s Tale ‘ 33

words to put off his departure for some weeks longer.
Upon this, although Leontes had so long known
the integrity and honourable principles of his friend
Polixenes, as well as the excellent disposition of his
virtuous queen, he was seized with an ungovernable
jealousy. Every attention Hermione showed to
Polixenes, though by her husband’s particular desire,^
and merely to please him, increased the unfortunate
king’s jealousy ; and from being a loving and a true
friend, and the best and fondest of husbands, Leontes
became suddenly a savage and inhuman monster.
Sending for Camillo, one of the lords of his court,,
and telling him of the suspicion he entertained, he
commanded him to poison Polixenes.

Camillo was a good man ; and he, well knowing
that the jealousy of Leontes had not the slightest
foundation in truth, instead of poisoning Polixenes,
acquainted him with the king his master’s orders^
and agreed to escape with him out of the Sicilian
dominions ; and Polixenes, with the assistance of
Camillo, arrived safe in his own kingdom of Bohe-
mia, where Camillo lived from that time in the king’s
court, and became the chief friend and favourite of
Polixenes.

The flight of Polixenes enraged the jealous Leontes
still more ; he went to the queen’s apartment, where
the good lady was sitting with her little son Mamillius^
who was just beginning to tell one of his best stories
to amuse his mother, when the king entered, and
taking the child away, sent Hermione to prison.

Mamillius, though but a very young child, loved his
mother tenderly ; and when he saw her so dishon-
oured, and found she was taken from him to be put
into a prison, he took it deeply to heart, and drooped
and pined away by slow degrees, losing his appetite
and his sleep, till it was thought his grief would kill
him.

34 Tales from Shakspeare

The king, when he had sent his queen to prison,
commanded Cleomenes and Dion, two Sicilian lords,
to go to Delphos, there to inquire of the oracle at the
temple of Apollo, if his queen had been unfaithful to
him.

When Hermione had been a short time in prison,
she was brought to bed of a daughter ; and the poor
lady received much comfort from the sight of her
pretty baby, and she said to it, “ My poor little
prisoner, I am as innocent as you are.”

Hermione had a kind friend in the noble-spirited
Paulina, who was the wife of Antigonus, a Sicilian
lord ; and when the lady Paulina heard her royal
mistress was brought to bed, she went to the prison
where Hermione was confined ; and she said to
Emilia, a lady who attended upon Hermione, I pray
you, Emilia, tell the good queen, if her majesty dare
trust me with her little babe, I will carry it to the
king, its father ; we do not know how he may soften
at the sight of his innocent child.” “ Most worthy
madam,” replied Emilia, “ I will acquaint the queen
with your noble offer ; she was wishing to-day that
she had any friend who would venture to present the
child to the king.” And tell her,” said Paulina,
‘‘ that I will speak boldly to Leontes in her defence.”
‘‘ May you be for ever blessed,” said Emilia, ‘‘ for
your kindness to our gracious queen ! ” Emilia then
went to Hermione, who joyfully gave up her baby to
the care of Paulina, for she had feared that no one
would. dare venture to present the child tc its father.

Paulina took the new-born infant, and forcing her-
self into the king’s presence, notwithstanding her
husband, fearing the king’s anger, endeavoured to
prevent her, she laid the babe at its father’s feet, and
Paulina made a noble speech to the king in defence
of Hermione, and she reproached him severely for his
inhumanity, and implored him to have mercy on his

The Winter’s Tale ' 35

innocent wife and child. But Paulina’s spirited re-
monstrances only aggravated Leontes’ displeasure, and
he ordered her husband Antigonus to take her from
his presence.

When Paulina went away, she left the little baby
at its father’s feet, thinking when he was alone with
it, he would look upon it, and have pity on its help-
less innocence.

The good Paulina was mistaken : for no sooner
was she gone than the merciless father ordered Anti-
gonus, Paulina’s husband, to take the child, and carry
It out to sea, and leave it upon some desert shore to
perish.

Antigonus, unlike the good Camillo, too well
obeyed the orders of Leontes ; for he immediately
carried the child on ship-board, and put out to sea,
intending to leave it on the first desert coast he could
find.

So firmly was the king persuaded of the guilt of
Hermione, that he would not wait for the return of
Cleomenes and Dion, whom he had sent to consult
the oracle of Apollo at Delphos ; but before the queen
was recovered from her lying-in, and from her grief
for the loss of her precious baby, he had her brought
to a public trial before all the lords and nobles of his
court. And when all the great lords, the judges, and
all the nobility of the land were assembled together to
try Hermione, and that unhappy queen was standing
as a prisoner before her subjects to receive their judg-
ment, Cleomenes and Dion entered the assembly, and
presented to the king the answer of the oracle, sealed
up ; and Leontes commanded the seal to be broken,
and the words of the oracle to be read aloud, and
these were the words : — “ Hermione is innocent^ Polix--
enes b lameless ^ Camillo a true subject^ Leontes a jealous
tyrant^ and the king shall live without an heir if that
which is lost be not found, The king would give no

D

36 Tales from Shakspeare

credit to the words of the oracle : he said it was a j
falsehood invented by the queen’s friends, and he I
desired the judge to proceed in the trial of the queen ; ,

but while Leontes was speaking, a man entered and
told him that the prince Mamillius, hearing his mother
was to be tried for her life, struck with grief and ^
shame, had suddenly died. ;

Hermione, upon hearing of the death of this dear
aflFectionate child, who had lost his life in sorrowing 5
for her misfortune, fainted ; and Leontes, pierced to j
the heart by the news, began to feel pity for his un-
happy queen, and he ordered Paulina, and the ladies
who were her attendants, to take her away, and use
means for her recovery. Paulina soon returned, and
told the king that Hermione was dead.

When Leontes heard that the queen was dead, he
repented of his cruelty to her ; and now that he
thought his ill-usage had broken Hermione’s heart, he
believed her innocent ; and now he thought the
words of the oracle were true, as he knew ‘‘ if that
which was lost was not found,” which he concluded
was his young daughter, he should be without an heir,
the young prince Mamillius being dead ; and he would
give his kingdom now to recover his lost daughter :
and Leontes gave himself up to remorse, and passed
many years in mournful thoughts and repentant grief.

The ship in which Antigonus carried the infant
princess out to sea was driven by a storm upon the
coast of Bohemia, the very kingdom of the good king
Polixenes. Here Antigonus landed, and here he left
the little baby.

Antigonus never returned to Sicily to tell Leontes
where he had left his daughter, for as he was going
back to the ship, a bear came out of the woods, and
tore him to pieces ; a just punishment on him for |
obeying the wicked order of Leontes.

The child was dressed in rich clothes and jewels j

The Winter’s Tale 37

for Hermione had made it very fine when she sent it
to Leontes, and Antigonus had pinned a paper to its
mantle, and the name of Perdita written thereon, and
words obscurely intimating its high birth and untoward
fate.

This poor deserted baby was found by a shepherd.
He was a humane man, and so he carried the little
Perdita home to his wife, who nursed it tenderly ^
but poverty tempted the shepherd to conceal the rich
prize he had found : therefore he left that part of the
country, that no one might know where he got his
riches, and with part of Perdita’s jewels he bought
herds of sheep, and became a wealthy shepherd. He
brought up Perdita as his own child, and she knew
not she was any other than a shepherd’s daughter.

The little Perdita grew up a lovely maiden ^ and
though she had no better education than that of a
shepherd’s daughter, yet so did the natural graces
she inherited from her royal mother shine forth in her
untutored mind, that no one from her behaviour
would have known she had not been brought up in
her father’s court.

Polixenes, the king of Bohemia, had an only son,
whose name was Florizel. As this young prince was
hunting near the shepherd’s dwelling, he saw the old
man’s supposed daughter ; and the beauty, modesty,
and queen-like deportment of Perdita caused him in-
stantly to fall in love with her. He soon, under the
name of Doricles, and in the disguise of a private
gentleman, became a constant visitor at the old shep-
herd’s house. Florizel’s frequent absences from court
alarmed Polixenes ; and setting people to watch his
son, he discovered his love for the shepherd’s fair
daughter.

Polixenes then called for Camillo, the faithful
Camillo, who had preserved his life from the fury of
Leontes, and desired that he would accompany him

38 Tales from Shakspeare

to the house of the shepherd, the supposed father of i
Perdita.

Polixenes and Camillo, both in disguise, arrived at
the old shepherd’s dwelling while they were celebrat-
ing the feast of sheep-shearing ; and though they were
strangers, yet at the sheep-shearing every guest being
made welcome, they were invited to walk in, and join
in the general festivity.

Nothing but mirth and jollity was going forward.
Tables were spread, and great preparations were
making for the rustic feast. Some lads and lasses ^
were dancing on the green before the house, while *
others of the young men were buying ribands, gloves, |
and such toys, of a pedlar at the door. j

While this busy scene was going forward, Florizel
and Perdita sat quietly in a retired corner, seemingly
more pleased with the conversation of each other, than
desirous of engaging in the sports and silly amuse-
ments of those around them.

The king was so disguised that it was impossible his
son could know him : he therefore advanced near
enough to hear the conversation. The simple yet
elegant manner in which Perdita conversed with his
son did not a little surprise Polixenes : he said to
Camillo, ‘‘ This is the prettiest low-born lass I ever
saw ; nothing she does or says but looks like some-
thing greater than herself, too noble for this place.”

Camillo replied, ‘‘ Indeed she is the very queen of
curds and cream.”

“ Pray, my good friend,” said the king to the old
shepherd, what fair swain is that talking with your
daughter ? ” ‘‘ They call him Doricles,” replied the

shepherd. “ He says he loves my daughter ; and, to
speak truth, there is not a kiss to choose which
loves the other best. If young Doricles can get her,
she shall bring him that belittle dreams of;” meaning
the remainder of Perdita’s jewels ; which, after he had

The Winter’s Tale 39

bought herds of sheep with part of them, he had care-
fully hoarded up for her marriage portion.

Polixenes then addressed his son. “ How now,
young man ! ” said he : “ your heart seems full of
something that takes off* your mind from feasting.
When I was young, I used to load my love with
presents ; but you have let the pedlar go, and have
bought your lass no toy.”

The young prince, who little thought he was talk-
ing to the king his father, replied, ‘‘ Old sir, she prizes
not such trifles ; the gifts which Perdita expects from
me are locked up in my heart.” Then turning to
Perdita, he said to her, O hear me, Perdita, before
this ancient gentleman, who it seems was once him-
self a lover ; he shall hear what I profess.” Florizel
then called upon the old stranger to be a witness to
a solemn promise of marriage which he made to
Perdita, saying to Polixenes, I pray you, mark our
contract.”

“ Mark your divorce, young sir,” said the king,
discovering himself. Polixenes then reproached his
son for daring to contract himself to this low-born
maiden, calling Perdita shepherd’s-brat, sheep-hook,”
and other disrespectful names ; and threatening, if
ever she suffered his son to see her again, he would
put her, and the old shepherd her father, to a cruel
death.

The king then left them in great wrath, and ordered
Camillo to follow him with prince Florizel.

When the king had departed, Perdita, whose royal
nature was roused by Polixenes’ reproaches, said,
‘‘ Though we are all undone, I was not much afraid ;
and once or twice I was about to speak, and tell him
plainly that the selfsame sun which shines upon his
palace, hides not his face from our cottage, but looks
on both alike.” Then sorrowfully she said, But
now I am awakened from this dream, I will queen it

40 Tales from Shakspeare

no further. Leave me, sir ; I will go milk my ewes
and weep.”

The kind-hearted Camillo was charmed with the .
spirit and propriety of Perdita’s behaviour ; and per-
ceiving that the young prince was too deeply in love
to give up his mistress at the command of his royal
father, he thought of a way to befriend the lovers, and
at the same time to execute a favourite scheme he had
in his mind.

Camillo had long known that Leontes, the king
of Sicily, was become a true penitent ; and though
Camillo was now the favoured friend of king Polix-
enes, he could not help wishing once more to see his
late royal master and his native home. He therefore
proposed to Florizel and Perdita that they should
accompany him to the Sicilian court, where he would
engage Leontes should protect them, till, through his
mediation, they could obtain pardon from Polixenes,
and his consent to their marriage.

To this proposal they joyfully agreed ; and Camillo,
who conducted everything relative to their flight, j
allowed the old shepherd to go along with them.

The shepherd took with him the remainder of
Perdita’s jewels, her baby clothes, and the paper which
he had found pinned to her mantle.

After a prosperous voyage, Florizel and Perdita,
Camillo and the old shepherd, arrived in safety at the
court of Leontes. Leontes, who still mourned his
dead Hermione and his lost child, received Camillo
with great kindness, and gave a cordial welcome to
prince Florizel. But Perdita, whom Florizel intro- I
duced as his princess, seemed to engross all Leontes’
attention : perceiving a resemblance between her and
his dead queen Hermione, his grief broke out afresh,
and he said, such a lovely creature might his own
daughter have been, if he had not so cruelly destroyed
her. And then, too,” said he to Florizel, “ I lost

The Winter’s Tale

41

the society and friendship of your brave father, whom
I now desire more than my life once again to look
upon.”

When the old shepherd heard how much notice
the king had taken of Perdita, and that he had lost
a daughter, who was exposed in infancy, he fell to
comparing the time when he found the little Perdita,
with the manner of its exposure, the jewels and other
tokens of its high birth ; from all which it was im-
possible for him not to conclude that Perdita and the
king’s lost daughter were the same.

Florizel and Perdita, Camillo and the faithful
Paulina, were present when the old shepherd related
to the king the manner in which he had found the
child, and also the circumstance of Antigonus’ death,
he having seen the bear seize upon him. He showed
the rich mantle in which Paulina remembered Her-
mione had wrapped the child ; and he produced a
jewel which she remembered Hermione had tied about
Perdita’s neck, and he gave up the paper which
Paulina knew to be the writing of her husband ; it
could not be doubted that Perdita was Leontes’ own
daughter : but oh ! the noble struggles of Paulina,
between sorrow for her husband’s death, and joy that
the oracle was fulfilled, in the king’s heir, his long-
lost daughter being found. When Leontes heard that
Perdita was his daughter, the great sorrow that he
felt that Hermione was not living to behold her child,
made him that he could say nothing for a long time,
but, O thy mother, thy mother ! ”

Paulina interrupted this joyful yet distressful scene,
with saying to Leontes, that she had a statue newly
finished by that rare Italian master, Julio Romano,
which was such a perfect resemblance of the queen,
that would his majesty be pleased to go to her house
and look upon it, he would be almost ready to think
it was Hermione herself. Thither then they all went ;

42 Tales from Shakspeare

the king anxious to see the semblance of his Her-
mione, and Perdita longing to behold what the mother
she never saw did look like.

When Paulina drew back the curtain which con- 1
cealed this famous statue, so perfectly did it resemble j
Hermione, that all the king’s sorrow was renewed at
the sight : for a long time he had no power to speak j
or move. j

I like your silence, my liege,” said Paulina, it j
the more shows your wonder. Is not this statue very |
like your queen ? ” I

At length the king said, O, thus she stood, even !
with such majesty, when I first wooed her. But yet,
Paulina, Hermione was not so aged as this statue
looks.” Paulina replied, So much the more the

carver’s excellence, who has made the statue as
Hermione would have looked had she been living
now. But let me draw the curtain, sire, lest presently
you think it moves.”

The king then said, ‘‘ Do not draw the curtain ;
Would I were dead ! See, Camillo, would you not
think it breathed ? Her eye seems to have motion in
it.” I must draw the curtain, my liege,” said Paulina.

“ You are so transported, you will persuade yourself
the statue lives.” “ O, sweet Paulina,” said Leontes,

“ make me think so twenty years together ! Still
methinks there is an air comes from her. What fine
chisel could ever yet cut breath ? Let no man mock
me, for I will kiss her.” Good my lord, forbear ! ”
said Paulina. “ The ruddiness upon her lip is wet ;
you will stain your own with oily painting. Shall I
draw the curtain ? ” “ No, not these twenty years,” c

said Leontes.

Perdita, who all this time had been kneeling, and
beholding in silent admiration the statue of her match-
less mother, said now, And so long could I stay
here, looking upon my dear mother.”

When Paulina drew back the Curtain which concealed the
famous Statue.

The Winter’s Tale

43

Either forbear this transport,” said Paulina to
Leontes, and let me draw the curtain ; or prepare
yourself for more amazement. I can make the statue
move indeed ; ay, and descend from off the pedestal,
and take you by the hand. But then you will think,
which I protest I am not, that I am assisted by some
wicked powers.”

What you can make her do,” said the astonished
king, I am content to look upon. What you can
make her speak, I am content to hear ; for it is as easy
to make her speak as move.”

Paulina then ordered some slow and solemn music,
which she had prepared for the purpose, to strike up ;
and, to the amazement of all the beholders, the statue
came down from off the pedestal, and threw its arms
around Leontes’ neck. The statue then began to
speak, praying for blessings on her husband, and on
her child, the newly-found Perdita.

No wonder that the statue hung upon Leontes’
neck, and blessed her husband and her child. No
wonder ; for the statue was indeed Hermione herself,
the real, the living queen.

Paulina had falsely reported to the king the death
of Hermione, thinking that the only means to preserve
her royal mistress’ life ; and with the good Paulina,
Hermione had lived ever since, never choosing Leontes
should know she was living, till she heard Perdita was
found ; for though she had long forgiven the injuries
which Leontes had done to herself, she could not
pardon his cruelty to his infant daughter.

His dead queen thus restored to life, his lost daughter
found, the long-sorrowing Leontes could scarcely
support the excess of his own happiness.

Nothing but congratulations and affectionate
speeches were heard on all sides. Now the delighted
parents thanked prince Florizel for loving their lowly-
seeming daughter ; and now they blessed the good

44 Tales from Shakspeare

old shepherd for preserving their child. Greatly did
Camillo and Paulina rejoice that they had lived to see
so good an end of all their faithful services.

And as if nothing should be wanting to complete
this strange and unlooked-for joy, king Polixenes him-
self now entered the palace.

When Polixenes first missed his son and Camillo,
knowing that Camillo had long wished to return to
Sicily, he conjectured he should find the fugitives here ;
and, following them with all speed, he happened to
just arrive at this, the happiest moment of Leontes’ life.

Polixenes took a part in the general joy ; he forgave
his friend Leontes the unjust jealousy he had con-
ceived against him, and they once more loved each
other with all the warmth of their first boyish friend-
ship. And there was no fear that Polixenes would
now oppose his son’s marriage with Perdita. She was
no sheep-hook ” now, but the heiress of the crown
of Sicily,

Thus have we seen the patient virtues of the long-
suffering Hermione rewarded. That excellent lady
lived many years with her Leontes and her Perdita,
the happiest of mothers and of queens.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING

HERE lived in the palace at Messina t^vo ladies,

'whose names were Hero and Beatrice. Hero

was the daughter, and Beatrice the niece, of Leonato,
the governor of Messina.

Beatrice was of a lively temper, and loved to divert
her cousin Hero, who was of a more serious dis-
position, with her sprightly sallies. Whatever was
going forward was sure to make matter of mirth for
the light-hearted Beatrice.

At the. time the history of these ladies commences
some young men of high rank in the army, as they
were passing through Messina on their return from a
war that was just ended, in which they had dis-
tinguished themselves by their great bravery, came to
visit Leonato. Among these were Don Pedro, the
Prince of Arragon ; and his friend Claudio, who was a
lord of Florence ; and with them came the wild and
witty Benedick, and he was a lord of Padua.

These strangers had been at Messina before, and
the hospitable governor introduced them to his
daughter and his niece as their old friends and
acquaintance.

Benedick, the moment he entered the room, began
a lively conversation with Leonato and the prince.
Beatrice, who liked not to be left out of any discourse,
interrupted Benedick with saying, “ I wonder that
you will still be talking, signior Benedick : nobody
marks you.” Benedick was just such another rattle-
brain as Beatrice, yet he was not pleased at this
free salutation ^ he thought it did not become a well-
bred lady to be so flippant with her tongue ; and he

4S

46 Tales from Shakspeare

remembered, when he was last at Messina, that
Beatrice used to select him to make her merry jests
upon. And as there is no one who so little likes to be
made a jest of as those who are apt to take the same
liberty themselves, so it was with Benedick and
Beatrice ; these two sharp wits never met in former
times but a perfect war of raillery was kept up
between them, and they always parted mutually dis-
pleased with each other. Therefore wfien Beatrice I
stopped him in the middle of his discourse with telling
him nobody marked what he was saying. Benedick, ,
affecting not to have observed before that she was :
present, said, What, my dear lady Disdain, are you I
yet living ? ” And now war broke out afresh between
them, and a long jangling argument ensued, during
which Beatrice, although she knew he had so well 1
approved his valour in the late war, said that she would f
eat all he had killed there : and observing the prince ;
take delight in Benedick’s conversation, she called
him “ the prince’s jester.” This sarcasm sunk deeper
into the mind of Benedick than all Beatrice had said
before. The hint she gave him that he was a coward,
by saying she would eat all he had killed, he did not
regard, knowing himself to be a brave man ; but
there is nothing that great wits so much dread as the
imputation of buffoonery, because the charge comes
sometimes a little too near the truth : therefore i
Benedick perfectly hated Beatrice when she called
him “ the prince’s jester.”

The modest lady Hero was silent before the noble
guests ; and while Claudio was attentively observing
the improvement which time had made in her beauty,
and was contemplating the exquisite graces of her
fine fi^re (for she was an admirable young lady),
the prince was highly amused with listening to the
humorous dialogue between Benedick and Beatrice ;
and he said in a whisper to Leonato, ‘‘This is a

Much Ado about Nothing 47

pleasant-spirited young lady. She were an excellent
wife for Benedick.” Leonato replied to this sug-
gestion, ‘‘O, my lord, my lord, if they were but a
week married, they would talk themselves mad.”
But though Leonato thought they would make a
discordant pair, the prince did not give up the idea of
matching these two keen wits together.

When the prince returned with Claudio from the
palace, he found that the marriage he had devised
between Benedick and Beatrice was not the only one
projected in that good company, for Claudio spoke in
such terms of Hero, as made the prince guess at what
was passing in his heart ; and he liked it well, and he
said to Claudio, “ Do you affect Hero?” To this
question Claudio replied, O my lord, when I was
last at Messina, I looked upon her with a soldier’s
eye, that liked, but had no leisure for loving ; but
now, in this happy time of peace, thoughts of war
have left their places vacant in my mind, and in their
room come thronging soft and delicate thoughts, all
prompting me how fair young Hero is, reminding
me that I liked her before I went to the wars.”
Claudio’s confession of his love for Hero so wrought
upon the prince, that he lost no time in soliciting the
consent of Leonato to accept of Claudio for a son-in-
law. Leonato agreed to this proposal, and the prince
found no great difficulty in persuading the gentle
Hero herself to listen to the suit of the noble Claudio,
who was a lord of rare endowments, and highly
accomplished, and Claudio, assisted by his kind
prince, soon prevailed upon Leonato to fix an
early day for the celebration of his marriage with
Hero.

Claudio was to wait but a few days before he was
to be married to his fair lady ; yet he complained of
the interval being tedious, as indeed most young men
are impatient when they are waiting for the accom-

48 Tales from Shakspeare

plishment of any event they have set their hearts
upon : the prince, therefore, to make the time seem j
short to him, proposed as a kind of merry pastime
that they should invent some artful scheme to make
Benedick and Beatrice fall in love with each other.
Claudio entered with great satisfaction into this whim
of the prince, and Leonato promised them his as- I
sistance, and even Hero said she would do any modest j
office to help her cousin to a good husband. j

The device the prince invented was, that the ;
gentlemen should make Benedick believe that '
Beatrice was in love with him, and that Hero should |
make Beatrice believe that Benedick was in love with |
her. I

The prince, Leonato, and Claudio began their
operations first : and watching upon an opportunity
when Benedick was quietly seated reading in an
arbour, the prince and his assistants took their station
among the trees behind the arbour, so near that
Benedick could not choose but hear all they said ;
and after some careless talk the prince said, Come
hither, Leonato. What was it you told me the other
day — that your niece Beatrice was in love with
signior Benedick ? I did never think that lady would
have loved any man.” ‘^No, nor I neither, my
lord,” answered Leonato. ‘‘It is most wonderful
that she should so dote on Benedick, whom she in all
outward behaviour seemed ever to dislike.” Claudio
confirmed all this with saying that Hero had told him
Beatrice was so in love with Benedick, that she
would certainly die of grief, if he could not be
brought to love her ; which Leonato and Claudio
seemed to agree was impossible, he having always
been such a railer against all fair ladies, and in
particular against Beatrice.

The prince affected to hearken to all this with
great compassion for Beatrice, and he said, “ It were

Much Ado about Nothing 49

good that Benedick were told of this.” “To what
end ? ” said Claudio ; “ he would but make sport of
it, and torment the poor lady worse.” And if he
should,” said the prince, “it were a good deed to
hang him ; for Beatrice is an excellent sweet lady,
and exceeding wise in everything but in loving
Benedick.” Then the prince motioned to his com-
panions that they should walk on, and leave Benedick
to meditate upon what he had overheard.

Benedick had been listening with great eagerness
to this conversation ; and he said to himself when he
heard Beatrice loved, him, “ Is it possible ? Sits the
wind in that corner ? ” And when they were gone,
he began to reason in this manner with himself :
“ This can be no trick ! they were very serious, and
they have the truth from Hero, and seem to pity the
lady. Love me ! Why it must be requited ! I did
never think to marry. But when I said I should die
a bachelor, I did not think I should live to be married.
They say the lady is virtuous and fair. She is so.
And wise in everything but loving me. Why, that
is no great argument of her folly. But here comes
Beatrice. By this day, she is a fair lady. I do spy
some marks of love in her.” Beatrice now ap-
proached him, and said with her usual tartness,

Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to
dinner.” Benedick, who never felt himself disposed
to speak so politely to her before, replied, “Fair
Beatrice, I thank you for your pains : ” and when
Beatrice, after two or three more rude speeches, left
him. Benedick thought he observed a concealed mean-
ing of kindness under the uncivil words she uttered,
and he said aloud, “ If I do not take pity on her, I
am a villain. If I do not love her, I am a Jew. I
will go get her picture.”

The gentleman being thus caught in the net they
had spread for him, it was now Hero’s turn to play

E

50 Tales from Shakspeare

her part with Beatrice ; and for this purpose she sent
for Ursula and Margaret, two gentlewomen who
attended upon her, and she said to Margaret, ‘‘ Good
Margaret, run to the parlour ; there you will find
my cousin Beatrice talking with the prince and
Claudio. Whisper in her ear, that I and Ursula are
walking in the orchard, and that our discourse is all
of her. Bid her steal into that pleasant arbour, where
honeysuckles, ripened by the sun, like ungrateful
minions, forbid the sun to enter.” This arbour, into
which Hero desired Margaret to entice Beatrice,
was the very same pleasant arbour where Benedick
had so lately been an attentive listener.

“ I will make her come, I warrant, presently,”
said Margaret.

Hero, then taking Ursula with her into the
orchard, said to her, “ Now, Ursula, when Beatrice
comes, we will walk up and down this alley, and our
talk must be only of Benedick, and when I name
him, let it be your part to praise him more than ever
man did merit. My talk to you must be how
Benedick is in love with Beatrice. Now begin ; for
look where Beatrice like a lapwing runs close by the
ground, to hear our conference.” They then began ;
Hero saying, as if in answer to something which
Ursula had said, ‘‘No, truly, Ursula. She is too
disdainful ; her spirits are as coy as wild birds of the
rock.” “But are you sure,” said Ursula, “that
Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely ? ” Hero replied,
“ So says the prince, and my lord Claudio, and they
entreated me to acquaint her with it ; but I persuaded
them, if they loved Benedick, never to let Beatrice
know of it.” “Certainly,” replied Ursula, “it were
not good she knew his love, lest she made sport of it.”
“ Why, to say truth,” said Hero, “ I never yet saw
a man, how wise soever, or noble, young, or rarely
featured, but she would dispraise him.” “ Sure sure.

j Much Ado about Nothing 51

' such carping is not commendable,” said Ursula.
‘‘ No,” replied Hero, but who dare tell her so ?
If I should speak, she would mock me into air.”

O ! you wrong your cousin,” said Ursula: ^‘she
cannot be so much without true judgment, as to
refuse so rare a gentleman as signior Benedick.”
‘‘ He hath an excellent good name,” said Hero :

indeed, he is the first man in Italy, always excepting
my dear Claudio.” And now. Hero giving her
attendant a hint that it was time to change the
discourse, Ursula said, “And when are you to be
married, madam ? ” . Hero then told her, that she
was to be married to Claudio the next day, and
desired she would go in with her, and look at some
new attire, as she wished to consult with her on what
she would wear on the morrow. Beatrice, who had
been listening with breathless eagerness to this dia-
logue, when they went away, exclaimed, “ What fire
is in mine ears ? Can this be true ? Farewell, con-
tempt and scorn, and maiden pride, adieu ! Benedick,
love on ! I will requite you, taming my wild heart
to your loving hand.”

It must have been a pleasant sight to see these old
enemies converted into new and loving friends, and
to behold their first meeting after being cheated into
mutual liking by the merry artifice of the good-
humoured prince. But a sad reverse in the fortunes
of Hero must now be thought of. The morrow,
which was to have been her wedding-day, brought
sorrow on the heart of Hero and her good father
Leonato.

The prince had a half-brother, who came from
the wars along with him to Messina. This brother
(his name was Don John) was a melancholy, dis-
contented man, whose spirits seemed to labour in the
contriving of villanies. He hated the prince his
brother, and he hated Claudio, because he was the

52 Tales from Shakspeare

prince’s friend, and determined to prevent Claudio’s
marriage with Hero, only for the malicious pleasure
of making Claudio and the prince unhappy ; for he
knew the prince had set his heart upon this marriage,
almost as much as Claudio himself ; and to effect this
wicked purpose, he employed one Borachio, a man as
bad as himself, whom he encouraged with the offer of
a great reward. This Borachio paid his court to
Margaret, Hero’s attendant ; and Don John, knowing
this, prevailed upon him to make Margaret promise
to talk with him from her lady’s chamber window
that night, after Hero was asleep, and also to dress
herself in Hero’s clothes, the better to deceive Claudio
into the belief that it was Hero ; for that was the
end he meant to compass by this wicked plot.

Don John then went to the prince and Claudio,
and told them that Hero was an imprudent lady, and
that she talked with men from her chamber window
at midnight. Now this was the evening before the
wedding, and he offered to take them that night,
where they should themselves hear Hero discoursing
with a man from her window ; and they consented
to go along with him, and Claudio said, ‘‘If I see
anything to-night why I should not marry her, to-
morrow in the congregation, where I intended to wed
her, there will I shame her.” The prince also said,
“ And as I assisted you to obtain her, 1 will join with
you to disgrace her.”

When Don John brought them near Hero’s
chamber that night, they saw Borachio standing
under the window, and they saw Margaret looking
out of Hero’s window, and heard her talking with
Borachio : and Margaret being dressed in the same
clothes they had seen Hero wear, the prince and
Claudio believed it was the lady Hero herself.

Nothing could equal the anger of Claudio, when
he had made (as he thought) this discovery. All his

Much Ado about Nothing 53

love for the innocent Hero was at once converted
into hatred, and he resolved to expose her in the
church, as he had said he would, the next day ; and
the prince agreed to thi^!^thinking no punishment
could be too severe for the naughty lady, who talked
with a man from her window the very night before
she was going to be married^o the noble Claudio.

The next day, when they were all met to celebrate
the marriage, and Claudio and Hero were standing
before the priest, and the priest, or friar, as he was
called, was proceeding to pronounce the marriage
ceremony, Claudio, in the most passionate language,
proclaimed the guilt of the blameless Hero, who,
amazed at the strange words he uttered, said meekly,
‘‘ Is my lord well, that he does speak so wide ? ”
Leonato, in the utmost horror, said to the prince,
My lord, why speak not you ? ” “ What should I

speak ? ’’ said the prince ; ‘‘I stand dishonoured,

that have gone about to link my dear friend to an
unworthy woman. Leonato, upon my honour, my-
self, my brother, and this grieved Claudio, did see and
hear her last night at midnight talk with a man at her
chamber window.”

Benedick, in astonishment at what he heard, said,
This looks not like a nuptial.”

‘‘ True, O God ! ” replied the heart-struck Hero ;
and then this hapless lady sunk down in a fainting
fit, to all appearance dead. The prince and Claudio
left the church, without staying to see if Hero would
recover, or at all regarding the distress into which
they had thrown Leonato. So hard-hearted had their
anger made them.

Benedick remained, and assisted Beatrice to re-
cover Hero from her swoon, saying, “ How does the
lady ? ” “ Dead, I think,” replied Beatrice in great

agony, for she loved her cousin ; and knowing her
virtuous principles, she believed nothing of what she

54 Tales from Shakspeare

had heard spoken against her. Not so the poor old
father; he believed the story of his child’s shame,
and it was piteous to hear him lamenting over her, as
she lay like one dead before him, wishing she might
never more open her eyes.

But the ancient friar was a wise man, and full of
observation on human nature, and he had attentively
marked the lady’s countenance when she heard her-
self accused, and noted a thousand blushing shames to
start into her face, and then he saw an angel-like
whiteness bear away those blushes, and in her eye he
saw a fire that did belie the error that the prince did
speak against her maiden truth, and he said to the
sorrowing father, ‘‘ Call me a fool ; trust not my
reading, nor my observation ; trust not my age, my
reverence, nor my calling, if this sweet lady lie not
guiltless here under some biting error.”

When Hero had recovered from the swoon into
which she had fallen, the friar said to her, Lady,
what man is he you are accused of? ” Hero replied.

They know that do accuse me ; I know of none : ”
then turning to Leonato, she said, “ O my father,
if you can prove that any man has ever conversed
with me at hours unmeet, or that I yesternight
changed words with any creature, refuse me, hate me,
torture me to death.”

“ There is,” said the friar, some strange mis-
understanding in the prince and Claudio ; ” and then
he counselled Leonato, that he should report that
Hero was dead ; and he said that the death-like
swoon in which they had left Hero would make this
easy of belief ; and he also advised him that he should
put on mourning, and erect a monument for her, and
do all rites that appertain to a burial. “ What shall
become of this ? ” said Leonato ; “ What will this
do ? ” The friar replied, ‘‘ This report of her death
shall change slander into pity : that is some good ;

Much Ado about Nothing 55

but that is not all the good I hope for. When
Claudio shall hear she died upon hearing his words,
the idea of her life shall sweetly creep into his imagin-
ation. Then shall he mourn, if ever love had
interest in his heart, and wish that he had not so
accused her ; yea, though he thought his accusation
true.”

Benedick now said, Leonato, let the friar advise
you ; and though you know how well I love the
prince and Claudio, yet on my honour I will not
reveal this secret to them.”

Leonato, thus persuaded, yielded ; and he said
sorrowfully, I am so grieved, that the smallest twine
may lead me.” The kind friar then led Leonato
and Hero away' to comfort and console them, and
Beatrice and Benedick remained alone ; and this was
the meeting from which their friends, who contrived
the merry plot against them, expected so much
diversion ; those friends who were now overwhelmed
with affliction, and from whose minds all thoughts of
merriment seemed for ever banished.

Benedick was the first who spoke, and he said.
Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?”
‘‘Yea, and I will weep a while longer,” said Beat-
rice. “ Surely,” said Benedick, “ I do believe your
fair cousin is wronged.” “ Ah ! ” said Beatrice,
“ how much might that man deserve of me who
would right her ! ” Benedick then said, “ Is there
any way to show such friendship ? I do love nothing
in the world so well as you : is not that strange ? ”
“ It were as possible,” said Beatrice, “ for me to say
I loved nothing in the world so well as you ; but
believe me not, and yet I lie not. I confess nothing,
nor I deny nothing. I am sorry for my cousin.”
“ By my sword,” said Benedick, “you love me, and
I protest I love you. Come, bid me do anything for
you.” “ Kill Claudio,” said Beatrice. “ Ha ! not

56 Tales from Shakspeare

for the wide world,” said Benedick ; for he loved his j
friend Claudio, and he believed he had been imposed
upon. Is not Claudio a villain, that has slandered,
scorned, and dishonoured my cousin ? ” said Beat- j
rice : ‘‘ O that I were a man ! ” ‘‘Hear me. Beat- |
rice ! ” said Benedick. But Beatrice would hear '
nothing in Claudio’s defence ; and she continued to j
urge on Benedick to revenge her cousin’s wrongs : |
and she said, “ Talk with a man out of the window ; j
a proper saying ! Sweet Hero ! she is wronged ; j
she is slandered ; she is undone. O that I were a i
man for Claudio’s sake ! or that I had any friend, |
who would be a man for my sake ! but valour is
melted into courtesies and compliments. I cannot be
a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman
with grieving.” “ Tarry, good Beatrice,” said Bene-
dick : “ by this hand I love you.” “ Use it for my !
love some other way than swearing by it,” said Beat- !
rice. “ Think you on your soul that Claudio has
wronged Hero ? ” asked Benedick. “ Yea,” answered
Beatrice ; “as sure as I have a thought, or a soul.”

“ Enough,” said Benedick ; “ I am engaged ; I will
challenge him. I will kiss your hand, and so leave
you. By this hand, Claudio shall render me a dear
account ! As you hear from me, so think of me.
Go, comfort your cousin.”

While Beatrice was thus powerfully pleading with
Benedick, and working his gallant temper by the
spirit of her angry words, to engage in the cause ot
Hero, and fight even with his dear friend Claudio,
Leonato was challenging the prince and Claudio to
answer with their swords the injury they had done
his child, who, he affirmed, had died for grief. But
they respected his age and his sorrow, and they said,

“ Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man.”
And now came Benedick, and he also challenged
Claudio to answer with his sword the injury he had

Much Ado about Nothing 57

done to Hero ; and Claudio and the prince said to
each other, “ Beatrice has set him on to do this.”
Claudio nevertheless must have accepted this challenge
of Benedick, had not the justice of Heaven at the
moment brought to pass a better proof of the
innocence of Hero than the uncertain fortune of a
duel.

While the prince and Claudio were yet talking
of the challenge of Benedick, a magistrate brought
Borachio as a prisoner before the prince. Borachio
had been overheard talking with one of his companions
of the mischief he had been employed by Don John
to do.

Borachio made a full confession to the prince in
Claudio’s hearing, that it was Margaret dressed in her
lady’s clothes that he had talked with from the
window, whom they had mistaken for the lady Hero
herself ; and no doubt continued on the minds of
Claudio and the prince of the innocence of Hero. If
a suspicion had remained it must have been removed
by the flight of Don John, who, finding his villanies
were detected, fled from Messina to avoid the just
anger of his brother.

The heart of Claudio was sorely grieved when he
found he had falsely accused Hero, who, he thought,
died upon hearing his cruel words ; and the memory
of his beloved Hero’s image came over him, in the
rare semblance that he loved it first ; and the prince
asking him if what he heard did not run like iron
through his soul, he answered, that he felt as if he
had taken poison while Borachio was speaking.

And the repentant Claudio implored forgiveness
of the old man Leonato for the injury he had done
his child ; and promised, that whatever penance
Leonato would lay upon him for his fault in believing
the false accusation against his betrothed wife, for her
dear sake he would endure it.

58 Tales from Shakspeare

The penance Leonato enjoined him was, to marry
the next morning a cousin of Hero’s, who, he said,
was now his heir, and in person very like Hero.
Claudio, regarding the solemn promise he made to
Leonato, said, he would marry this unknown lady,
even though she were an Ethiop : but his heart was
very sorrowful, and he passed that night in tears, and
in remorseful grief, at the tomb which Leonato had
erected for Hero.

When the morning came, the prince accompanied
Claudio to the church, where the good friar, and
Leonato and his niece, were already assembled, to
celebrate a second nuptial ; and Leonato presented to
Claudio his promised bride ; and she wore a mask,
that Claudio might not discover her face. And
Claudio said to the lady in the mask, “ Give me your
hand, before this holy friar ; I am your husband, if
you will marry me.” “ And when I lived I was
your other wife,” said this unknown lady ; and,
taking off her mask, she proved to be no niece (as
was pretended), but Leonato’s very daughter, the
lady Hero herself. We may be sure that this proved
a most agreeable surprise to Claudio, who thought her
dead, so that he could scarcely for joy believe his
eyes ; and the prince, who was equally amazed at
what he -saw, exclaimed, Is not this Hero, Hero
that was dead ? ” Leonato replied, “ She died, my
lord, but while her slander lived.” The friar pro-
mised them an explanation of this seeming miracle,
after the ceremony was ended ; and was proceeding
to marry them, when he was interrupted by Bene-
dick, who desired to be married at the same time to
Beatrice. Beatrice making some demur to this
match, and Benedick challenging her with her love
for him, which he had learned from Hero, a pleasant
explanation took place ; and they found they had
both been tricked into a belief of love, which had

Much Ado about Nothing 59

never existed, and had become lovers in truth by the
power of a false jest : but the affection, which a
merry invention had cheated them into, was grown
too powerful to be shaken by a serious explanation ;
and since Benedick proposed to marry, he was re-
solved to think nothing to the purpose that the world
could say against it ; and he merrily kept up the jest,
and swore to Beatrice, that he took her but for pity,
and because he heard she was dying of love for him ;
and Beatrice protested, that she yielded but upon
great persuasion, and partly to save his life, for she
heard he was in a consumption. So these two mad
wits were reconciled, and made a match of it, after
Claudio and Hero were married ; and to complete
the history, Don John, the contriver of the villany,
was taken in his flight, and brought back to Messina;
and a brave punishment it was to this gloomy, dis-
contented man, to see the joy and feastings which, by
the disappointment of his plots, took place in the
palace in Messina.

AS YOU LIKE IT

During the time that France was divided into
provinces (or dukedoms as they were called)
there reigned in one of these provinces an usurper,
who had deposed and banished his elder brother, the
lawful duke.

The duke, who was thus driven from his dominions,
retired with a few faithful followers to the forest of
Arden ; and here the good duke lived with his loving
friends, who had put themselves into a voluntary
exile for his sake, while their land and revenues en-
riched the false usurper ; and custom soon made the
life of careless ease they led here more sweet to them
than the pomp and uneasy splendour of a courtier’s
life. Here they lived like the old Robin Hood
of England, and to this forest many noble youths
daily resorted from the court, and did fleet the time
carelessly, as they did who lived in the golden age.
In the summer they lay along under the fine shade of
the large forest trees, marking the playful sports of
the wild deer ; and so fond were they of these poor
dappled fools, who seemed to be the native inhabitants
of the forest, that it grieved them to be forced to kill
them to supply themselves with venison for their
food. When the cold winds of winter made the
duke feel the change of his adverse fortune, he would
endure it patiently, and say, “ These chilling winds
which blow upon my body are true counsellors ; they
do not flatter, but represent truly to me my condi-
tion ; and though they bite sharply, their tooth is
nothing like so keen as that of unkindness and
ingratitude. I find that howsoever men speak

6o

As You Like It

6i

against adversity, yet some sweet uses are to be
extracted from it ; like the jewel, precious for medi-
cine, which is taken from the head of the venomous
and despised toad.” In this manner did the patient
duke draw a useful moral from everything that he
saw ; and by the help of this moralising turn, in that
life of his, remote from public haunts, he could find
tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons
in stones, and good in everything.

The banished duke had an only daughter, named
Rosalind, whom the usurper, duke Frederick, when
he banished her father, still retained in his coucjt as
a companion for his own daughter Celia. A strict
friendship subsisted between these ladies, which the
disagreement between their fathers did not in the
least interrupt, Celia striving by every kindness in her
power to make amends to Rosalind for the injustice of
her own father in deposing the father of Rosalind ;
and whenever the thoughts of her father’s banishment,
and her own dependence on the false usurper, made
Rosalind melancholy, Celia’s whole care was to
comfort and console her.

One day, when Celia was talking in her usual kind
manner to Rosalind, saying, I pray you, Rosalind,
my sweet cousin, be merry,” a messenger entered from
the duke, to tell them that if they wished to see a
wrestling match, which was just going to begin, they
must come instantly to the court before the palace ;
and Celia, thinking it would amuse Rosalind, agreed
to go and see it.

In those times wrestling, which is only practised
now by country clowns, was a favourite sport even
in the courts of princes, and before fair ladies and
princesses. To this wrestling match, therefore, Celia
and Rosalind went. They found that it was likely to
prove a very tragical sight ; for a large and powerful
man, who had been long practised in the art of

62 Tales from Shakspeare

wrestling, and had slain many men in contests of this
kind, was just going to wrestle with a very young
man, who, from his extreme youth and inexperience
in the art, the beholders all thought would certainly
be killed.

When the duke saw Celia and Rosalind, he said,
“ How now, daughter and niece, are you crept hither
to see the wrestling ? You will take little delight in
it, there is such odds in the men : in pity to this
young man, I would wish to persuade him from
wrestling. Speak to him, ladies, and see if you can
move him.”

The ladies were well pleased to perform this
humane office, and first Celia entreated the young
stranger that he would desist from the attempt ; and
then Rosalind spoke so kindly to him, and with such
feeling consideration for the danger he was about to
undergo, that instead of being persuaded by her gentle
words to forego his purpose, all his thoughts were bent
to distinguish himself by his courage in this lovely
lady’s eyes. He refused the request of Celia and
Rosalind in such graceful and modest words, that
they felt still more concern for him ; he concluded
his refusal with saying, ‘‘ I am sorry to deny such fair
and excellent ladies anything. But let your fair eyes
and gentle wishes go with me to my trial, wherein if
I be conquered there is one shamed that was never
gracious ; if I am killed, there is one dead that is
willing to die ; I shall do my friends no wrong, for I
have none to lament me ; the world no injury, for in
it I have nothing ; for I only fill up a place in the
world which may be better supplied when I have
made it empty.”

And now the wrestling match began. Celia wished
the young stranger might not be hurt ; but Rosalind
felt most for him. The friendless state which he said
he was in, and that he wished to die, made Rosalind

As You Like It

63

think that he was like herself, unfortunate ; and she
pitied him so much, and so deep an interest she took
in his danger while he was wrestling, that she might
almost be said at that moment to have fallen in love
with him.

The kindness shown this unknown youth by these
fair and noble ladies gave him courage and strength,
so that he performed wonders ; and in the end com-
pletely conquered his antagonist, who was so much
hurt, that for a while he was unable to speak or
move.

The duke Frederick was much pleased with the
courage and skill shown by this young stranger ; and
desired to know his name and parentage, meaning to
take him under his protection.

The stranger said his name was Orlando, and
that he was the youngest son of Sir Rowland de
Boys.

Sir Rowland de Boys, the father of Orlando, had
been dead some years ; but when he was living, he
had been a true subject and dear friend of the banished
duke : therefore, when Frederick heard Orlando was
the son of his banished brother’s friend, all his liking
for this brave young man was changed into displeasure,
and he left the place in very ill humour. Hating to
hear the very name of any of his brother’s friends, and
yet still admiring the valour of the youth, he said,
as he went out, that he wished Orlando had been
the son of any other man.

Rosalind was delighted to hear that her new
favourite was the son of uer father’s old friend ; and
she said to Celia, “ My lather loved Sir Rowland
de Boys, and if I had known this young man was
his son, I would have added tears to my entreaties
before he should have ventured.”

The ladies then went up to him ; and seeing him
abashed by the sudden displeasure shown by the duke,

64 Tales from Shakspeare

they spoke kind and encouraging words to him ; and
Rosalind, when they were going away, turned back to
speak some more civil things to the brave young son of
her father’s old friend ; and taking a chain from off
her neck, she said, “ Gentleman, wear this for me. 1
am out of suits with fortune, or I would give you
a more valuable present.”

When the ladies were alone, Rosalind’s talk being
still of Orlando, Celia began to perceive her cousin
had fallen in love with the handsome young wrestler,
and she said to Rosalind, ‘‘Is it possible you should
fall in love so suddenly ? ” Rosalind replied, “ The
duke, my father, loved his father dearly.” “ But,”
said Celia, “ does it therefore follow that you should
love his son dearly ? for then I ought to hate him, for
my father hated his father ; yet I do not hate Orlando.”

Frederick being enraged at the sight of Sir Rowland
de Boys’ son, which reminded him of the many friends
the banished duke had among the nobility, and having
been for some time displeased with his niece, because
the people praised her for her virtues, and pitied her
for her good father’s sake, his malice suddenly broke
out against her ; and while Celia and Rosalind were
talking of Orlando, Frederick entered the room, and
with looks full of anger ordered Rosalind instantly to
leave the palace, and follow her father into banishment ;
telling Celia, who in vain pleaded for her, that he had
only suffered Rosalind to stay upon her account. “ I
did not then,” said Celia, “ entreat you to let her stay,
for I was too young at that time to value her ; but
now that I know ^ler worth, and that we so long have
slept together, rose at the same instant, learned, played,
and eat together, I cannot live out of her company.”
Frederick replied, “She is too subtle for you; her
smoothness, her very silence, and her patience speak to
the people, and they pity her. You are a fool to plead
for her, for you will seem more bright and virtuous

As You Like It

65

when she is gone ; therefore open not your lips in
her favour, for the doom which I have passed upon
her is irrevocable.”

When Celia found she could not prevail upon her
father to let Rosalind remain with her, she generously
resolved to accompany her ; and leaving her father’s
palace that night, she went along with her friend
to seek Rosalind’s father, the banished duke, in the
forest of Arden.

Before they set out, Celia considered that it would
be unsafe for two young ladies to travel in the rich
clothes they then wore ; she therefore proposed that
they should disguise their rank by dressing themselves
like country maids. Rosalind said it would be a still
greater protection if one of them was to be dressed like
a man ; and so it was quickly agreed on between them,
that as Rosalind was the tallest, she should wear the
dress of a young countryman, and Celia should be
habited like a country lass, and that they should say
they were brother and sister, and Rosalind said she
would be called Ganymede, and Celia chose the name
of Aliena.

In this disguise, and taking their money and jewels <
to defray their expenses, these fair princesses set out
on their long travel ; for the forest of Arden was a
long way off, beyond the boundaries of the duke’s
dominions.

The lady Rosalind (or Ganymede as she must now
be called) with her manly garb seemed to have put on
a manly courage. The faithful friendship Celia had
shown in accompanying Rosalind so many weary miles,
made the new brother, in recompense for this true love,
exert a cheerful spirit, as if he were indeed Ganymede,
the rustic and stout-hearted brother of the gentle village
maiden, Aliena.

When at last they came to the forest of Arden, they
no longer found the convenient inns and good accom-

F

66 Tales from Shakspeare

modations they had met with on the road ; and being
in want of food and rest, Ganymede, who had so
merrily cheered his sister with pleasant speeches and
happy remarks all the way, now owned to Aliena that
he was so weary, he could find in his heart to disgrace
his man’s apparel, and cry like a woman ; and Aliena
‘declared she could go no farther ; and then again
Ganymede tried to recollect that it was a man’s duty
to comfort and console a woman, as the weaker vessel ;
and to seem courageous to his new sister, he said,
“ Come, have a good heart, my sister Aliena ; we
are now at the end of our travel, in the forest of
Arden.” But feigned manliness and forced courage
would no longer support them ; for though they were
in the forest of Arden, they knew not where to find
the duke : and here the travel of these weary ladies
might have come to a sad conclusion, for they might
have lost themselves, and perished for want of food ;
but providentially, as they were sitting on the grass,
almost dying with fatigue and hopeless of any relief, a
countryman chanced to pass that way, and Ganymede
once more tried to speak with a manly boldness, saying,
“ Shepherd, if love or gold can in this desert place
procure us entertainment, I pray you bring us where
we may rest ourselves ; for this young maid, my sister,
is much fatigued with travelling, and faints for want of
food.”

The man replied that he was only a servant to a
shepherd, and that his master’s house was just going to
be sold, and therefore they would find but poor enter-
tainment ; but that if they would go with him, they
should be welcome to what there was. They followed
the man, the near prospect of relief giving them fresh
strength ; and bought the house and sheep of the
shepherd, and took the man who conducted them
to the shepherd’s house to wait on them ; and being
by this means so fortunately provided with a neat

As You Like It

67

cottage, and well supplied with provisions, they agreed
to stay here till they could learn in what part of the
forest the duke dwelt.

When they were rested after the fatigue of their
journey, they began to like their new way of life, and
almost fancied themselves the shepherd and shepherdess
they feigned to be ; yet sometimes Ganymede re-
membered he had once been the same lady Rosalind
who had so dearly loved the brave Orlando, because
he was the son of old Sir Rowland, her father’s friend ;
and though Ganymede thought that Orlando was
many miles distant, even so many weary miles as
they had travelled, yet it soon appeared that Orlando
was also in the forest of Arden : and in this manner
this strange event came to pass.

Orlando was the youngest son of Sir Rowland
de Boys, who, when he died, left him (Orlando being
then very young) to the care of his eldest brother
Oliver, charging Oliver on his blessing to give his
brother a good education, and provide for him as
became the dignity of their ancient house. Oliver
proved an unworthy brother ; and disregarding the
commands of his dying father, he never put his brother
to school, but kept him at home untaught and entirely
neglected. But in his nature and in the noble qualities
of his mind Orlando so much resembled his excellent
father, that without any advantages of education he
seemed like a youth who had been bred with the
utmost care ; and Oliver so envied the fine person
and dignified manners of his untutored brother, that
at last he wished to destroy him ; and to effect this
he set on people to persuade him to wrestle with the
famous wrestler, who, as has been before related, had
killed so many men. Now, it was this cruel brother’s
neglect of him which made Orlando say he wished to
die, being so friendless.

When, contrary to the wicked hopes he had formed,

68 Tales from Shakspeare

his brother proved victorious, his envy and malice
knew no bounds, and he swore he would burn the
chamber where Orlando slept. He was overheard
making this vow by one that had been an old and
faithful servant to their father, and that loved Orlando
because he resembled Sir Rowland* This old man
went out to meet him when he returned from the
duke’s palace, and when he saw Orlando, the peril
his dear young master was in made him break out
into these passionate exclamations : “ O my gentle
master, my sweet master, O you memory of old Sir
Rowland ! why are you virtuous ? why are you gentle,
strong, and valiant ? and why would you be so fond to
overcome the famous wrestler ? Your praise is come
too swiftly home before you.” Orlando, wondering
what all this meant, asked him what was the matter.
And then the old man told him how his wicked brother,
envying the love all people bore him, and now hearing
the fame he had gained by his victory in the duke’s
palace, intended to destroy him, by setting fire to his
chamber that night ; and in conclusion, advised him
to escape the danger he was in by instant flight ; and
knowing Orlando had no money, Adam (for that was
the good old man’s name) had brought out with him
his own little hoard, and he said, I have five hundred
crowns, the thrifty hire I saved under your father, and
laid by to be provision for me when my old limbs
should become unfit for service ; take that, and he
that doth the ravens feed be comfort to my age ! Here
is the gold ; all this I give to you : let me be your
servant ; though I look old I will do the service of
a younger man in all your business and necessities.”

O good old man ! ” said Orlando, how well appears
in you the constant service of the old world ! You are
not for the fashion of these times. We will go along
together, and before your youthful wages are spent, I
shall light upon some means for both our maintenance.”

As You Like It 69

Together then this faithful servant and his loved
master set out ; and Orlando and Adam travelled on,
uncertain what course to pursue, till they came to the
forest of Arden, and there they found themselves in
the same distress for want of food that Ganymede
and Aliena had been. They wandered on, seeking
some human habitation, till they were almost spent
with hunger and fatigue. Adam at last said, O my
dear master, I die for want of food, I can go no
farther ! ” He then laid himself down, thinking to
make that place his grave, and bade his dear master
farewell.^ Orlando, seeing him in this weak state,
took his old servant up in his arms, and carried him
under the shelter of some pleasant trees ; and he said
to him, Cheerly, old Adam, rest your weary limbs
here awhile, and do not talk of dying ! ”

Orlando then searched about to find some food,
and he happened to arrive at that part of the forest
where the duke was ; and he and his friends were
just going to eat their dinner, this royal duke being
seated on the grass, under no other canopy than the
shady covert of some large trees.

Orlando, whom hunger had made desperate, drew
his sword, intending to take their meat by force,
and said, Forbear and eat no more ; I must have
your food ! ” The duke asked him, if distress had
made him so bold, or if he were a rude despiser of
good manners ? On this Orlando said, he was dying
with hunger ; and then the duke told him he was
welcome to sit down and eat with them. Orlando
hearing him speak so gently, put up his sword, and
blushed with shame at the rude manner in which he
had demanded their food. Pardon me, I pray you,”
said he : ‘‘I thought that all things had been savage
here, and therefore I put on the countenance of stern
command ; but whatever men you are, that in this
desert, under the shade of melancholy boughs, lose

yo Tales from Shakspeare

and neglect the creeping hours of time ; if ever you |
have looked on better days ; if ever you have been
where bells have knolled to church ; if you have ever
sat at any good man’s feast ; if ever from your eyelids
you have wiped a tear, and know what it is to pity or
be pitied, may gentle speeches now move you to do
me human courtesy ! ” The duke replied, “True it
is that we are men (as you say) who have seen better
days, and though we have now our habitation in this
wild forest, we have lived in towns and cities, and
have with holy bell been knolled to church, have sat
at good men’s feasts, and from our eyes have wiped
the drops which sacred pity has engendered ; there-
fore sit you down, and take of our refreshment as much
as will minister to your wants.” “There is an old poor
man,” answered Orlando, “ who has limped after me
many a weary step in pure love, oppressed at once
with two sad infirmities, age and hunger ; till he be
satisfied, I must not touch a bit.” “ Go, find him out,
and bring him hither,” said the duke ; “ we will
forbear to eat till you return.” Then Orlando went
like a doe to find its fawn and give it food ; and
presently returned, bringing Adam in his arms ; and
the duke said, “ Set down your venerable burthen ;
you are both welcome : ” and they fed the old man,
and cheered his heart, and he revived, and recovered
his health and strength again.

The duke inquired who Orlando was ; and when
he found that he was the son of his old friend. Sir
Rowland de Boys, he took him under his protection,
and Orlando and his old servant lived with the duke
in the forest.

Orlando arrived in the forest not many days after
Ganymede and Aliena came there, and (as has been
before related) bought the shepherd’s cottage.

Ganymede and Aliena were strangely surprised to
find the name of Rosalind carved on the trees, and

love-sonnets, fastened to them, all addressed to
Rosalind ; and while they were wondering how this
could be, they met Orlando, and they perceived
the chain which Rosalind had given him about his
neck.

Orlando little thought that Ganymede was the fair
princess Rosalind, who, by her noble condescension
and favour, had so won his heart that he passed his
whole time in carving her name upon the trees, and
writing sonnets in praise of her beauty : but being
much pleased with the graceful air of this pretty
shepherd-youth, he entered into conversation with
him, and he thought he saw a likeness in Ganymede
to his beloved Rosalind, but that he had none of the
dignified deportment of that noble lady ; for Gany-
mede assumed the forward manners often seen in
youths when they are between boys and men, and
with much archness and humour talked to Orlando of
a certain lover, ‘‘ who,” said he, haunts our forest,
and spoils our young trees with carving Rosalind upon
their barks ; and he hangs odes upon hawthorns, and
elegies on brambles, all praising this same Rosalind.
If I could find this lover, I would give him some
good counsel that would soon cure him of his love.”

Orlando confessed that he was the fond lover of
whom he spoke, and asked Ganymede to give him
the good counsel he talked of. The remedy Gany-
mede proposed, and the counsel he gave him, was
that Orlando should come every day to the cottage
where he and his sister Aliena dwelt: “And then,”
said Ganymede, “ I will feign myself to be Rosalind,
and you shall feign to court me in the same manner
as you would do if I was Rosalind, and then I will
imitate the fantastic ways of whimsical ladies to their
lovers, till I make you ashamed of your love ; and this
is the way I propose to cure you.” Orlando had no
great faith in the remedy, yet he agreed to come

72 Tales from Shakspeare

every day to Ganymede’s cottage, and feign a playful
courtship ; and every day Orlando visited Ganymede
and Aliena, and Orlando called the shepherd Ganymede
his Rosalind, and every day talked over all the fine
words and flattering compliments which young men
delight to use when they court their mistresses. It
does not appear, however, that Ganymede made any
progress in curing Orlando of his love for Rosalind.

Though Orlando thought all this was but a sportive
play (not dreaming that Ganymede was his very
Rosalind), yet the opportunity it gave him of saying
all the fond things he had in his heart, pleased his
fancy almost as well as it did Ganymede’s, who
enjoyed the secret jest in knowing these fine love-
speeches were all addressed to the right person.

In this manner many days passed pleasantly on with
these young people ; and the good-natured Aliena,
seeing it made Ganymede happy, let him have his
own way, and was diverted at the mock-courtship,
and did not care to remind Ganymede that the lady
Rosalind had not yet made herself known to the duke
her father, whose place of resort in the forest they
had learnt from Orlando. Ganymede met the duke
one day, and had some talk with him, and the duke
asked of what parentage he came. Ganymede
answered that he came of as good parentage as he did,
which made the duke smile, for he did not suspect
the pretty shepherd-boy came of royal lineage. Then
seeing the duke look well and happy, Ganymede
was content to put off all further explanation for a
few days longer.

One morning, as Orlando was going to visit Gany-
mede, he saw a man lying asleep on the ground, and
a large green snake had twisted itself about his neck.
The snake, seeing Orlando approach, glided away
among the bushes. Orlando went nearer, and then
he discovered a lioness lie crouching, with her head

Ganymede assumed the forward manners often seen in
youths when they are between boys and men.

As You Like It 73

on the ground, with a cat-like watch, waiting until
the sleeping man awaked (for it is said that lions will
prey on nothing that is dead or sleeping). It seemed
as if Orlando was sent by Providence to free the
man from the danger of the snake and lioness; but
when Orlando looked in the man’s face, he perceived
that the sleeper who was exposed to this double peril,
was his own brother Oliver, who had so cruelly used
him, and had threatened to destroy him by fire ; and
he was almost tempted to leave him a prey to the
hungry lioness ; but brotherly affection and the
gentleness of his nature soon overcame his first anger
against his brother ; and he drew his sword, and
attacked the lioness, and slew her, and thus preserved
his brother’s life both from the venomous snake and
from the furious lioness ; but before Orlando could
conquer the lioness, she had torn one of his arms with
her sharp claws.

While Orlando was engaged with the lioness,
Oliver awaked, and perceiving that his brother
Orlando, whom he had so cruelly treated, was saving
him from the fury of a wild beast at the risk of his
own life, shame and remorse at once seized him, and
he repented of his unworthy conduct, and besought
with many tears his brother’s pardon for the injuries
he had done him. Orlando rejoiced to see him so
penitent, and readily forgave him : they embraced
each other; and from that hour Oliver loved Orlando
with a true brotherly affection, though he had come
to the forest bent on his destruction.

The wound in Orlando’s arm having bled very
much, he found himself too weak to go to visit
Ganymede, and therefore he desired his brother to go
and tell Ganymede, ‘‘whom,” said Orlando, “ I in
sport do call my Rosalind,” the accident which had
befallen him.

Thither then Oliver went, and told to Ganymede

74 Tales from Shakspeare

and Aliena how Orlando had saved his life : and
when he had finished the story of Orlando’s bravery,
and his own providential escape, he owned to them
that he was Orlando’s brother, who had so cruelly used
him ; and then he told them of their reconciliation.

The sincere sorrow that Oliver expressed for his
offences made such a lively impression on the kind
heart of Aliena, that she instantly fell in love with
him ; and Oliver observing how much she pitied the
distress he told her he felt for his fault, he as suddenly
fell in love with her. But while love was thus stealing
into the hearts of Aliena and Oliver, he was no less
busy with Ganymede, who hearing of the danger
Orlando had been in, and that he was wounded by
the lioness, fainted ; and when he recovered, he pre-
tended that he had counterfeited the swoon in the
imaginary character of Rosalind, and Ganymede said
to Oliver, ‘‘Tell your brother Orlando how well I
counterfeited a swoon.” But Oliver saw by the pale-
ness of his complexion that he did really faint, and
much wondering at the weakness of the young man,
he said, “ Well, if you ,did counterfeit, take a good
heart, and counterfeit to be a man.” “ So I do,” re-
plied Ganymede, truly, “ but I should have been a
woman by right.”

Oliver made this visit a very long one, and when
at last he returned back to his brother, he had much
news to tell him ; for besides the account of Gany-
mede’s fainting at the hearing that Orlando was
wounded, Oliver told him how he had fallen in love
with the fair shepherdess Aliena, and that she had lent
a favourable ear to his suit, even in this their first in-
terview ; and he talked to his brother, as of a thing
almost settled, that he should marry Aliena, saying,
that he so well loved her, that he would live here as
a shepherd, and settle his estate and house at home
upon Orlando.

As You Like It

75

“You have my consent,” said Orlando. “Let
your wedding be to-morrow, and I will invite the
duke and his friends. Go and persuade your shep-
herdess to agree to this : she is now alone ; for look,
here comes her brother.” Oliver went to Aliena ;
and Ganymede, whom Orlando had perceived ap-
proaching, came to inquire after the health of his
wounded friend.

When Orlando and Ganymede began to talk over
the sudden love which had taken place between
Oliver and Aliena, Orlando said he had advised his
brother to persuade his fair shepherdess to be married
on the morrow, and then he added how much he could
wish to be married on the same day to his Rosalind.

Ganymede, who well approved of this arrangement,
said that if Orlando really loved Rosalind as well as
he professed to do, he should have his wish ; for on
the morrow he would engage to make Rosalind appear
in her own person, and also that Rosalind should be
willing to marry Orlando.

This seemingly wonderful event, which, as Gany-
mede was the lady Rosalind, he could so easily perform,
he pretended he would bring to pass by the aid of
magic, which he said he had learnt of an uncle who
was a famous magician.

The fond lover Orlando, half believing and half
doubting what he heard, asked Ganymede if he spoke
in sober meaning. “ By my life I do,” said Gany-
mede ; “ therefore put on your best clothes, and bid
the duke and your friends to your wedding ; for if you
desire to be married to-morrow to Rosalind, she shall
be here.”

The next morning, Oliver having obtained the
consent of Aliena, they came into the presence of the
duke, and with them also came Orlando.

They being all assembled to celebrate this double
marriage, and as yet only one of the brides appearing.

76 Tales from Shakspeare

there was much of wondering and conjecture, but
they mostly thought that Ganymede was making a
jest of Orlando.

The duke, hearing that it was his own daughter
that was to be brought in this strange way, asked
Orlando if he believed the shepherd-boy could really
do what he had promised ; and while Orlando was
answering that he knew not what to think, Gany-
mede entered, and asked the duke, if he brought his
daughter, whether he would consent to her marriage
with Orlando. That I would,” said the duke, if
I had kingdoms to give with her.” Ganymede then
said to Orlando, ‘‘ And you say you will marry her if
I bring her here.” That I would,” said Orlando,

if I were king of many kingdoms.”

Ganymede and Aliena then went out together, and
Ganymede throwing ofF his male attire, and being
once more dressed in woman’s apparel, quickly became
Rosalind without the power of magic ; and Aliena
changing her country garb for her own rich clothes,
was with as little trouble transformed into the lady
Celia.

While they were gone, the duke said to Orlando,
that he thought the shepherd Ganymede very like his
daughter Rosalind ; and Orlando said, he also had
observed the resemblance.

They had no time to wonder how all this would
end, for Rosalind and Celia in their own clothes
entered ; and no longer pretending that it was by the
power of magic that she came there, Rosalind threw
herself on her knees before her father, and begged his
blessing. It seemed so wonderful to all present that
she should so suddenly appear, that it might well have
passed for magic ; but Rosalind would no longer trifle
with her father, and told him the story of her banish-
ment, and of her dwelling in the forest as a shepherd-
boy, her cousin Celia passing as her sister.

As You Like It

77

The duke ratified the consent he had already given
to the marriage ; and Orlando and Rosalind, Oliver
and Celia, were married at the same time. And
though their wedding could not be celebrated in this
wild forest with any of the parade or splendour usual
on such occasions, yet a happier wedding-day was
never passed : and while they were eating their veni-
son under the cool shade of the pleasant trees, as if
nothing should be wanting to complete the felicity of
this good duke and the true lovers, an unexpected
messenger arrived to tell the duke the joyful news,
that his dukedom was restored to him.

The usurper, enraged at the flight of his daughter
Celia, and hearing that every day men of great worth
resorted to the forest of Arden to join the lawful duke
in his exile, much envying that his brother should be
so highly respected in his adversity, put himself at the
head of a large force, and advanced towards the forest,
intending to seize his brother, and put him with all
his faithful followers to the sword ; but, by a wonder-
ful interposition of Providence, this bad brother was
converted from his evil intention ; for just as he en-
tered the skirts of the wild forest, he was met by an
old religious man, a hermit, with whom he had much
talk, and who in the end completely turned his heart
from his wicked design. Thenceforward he became
a true penitent, and resolved, relinquishing his unjust
dominion, to spend the remainder of his days in a
religious house. The first act of his newly-conceived
penitence was to send a messenger to his brother (as
has been related) to oiFer to restore to him his
dukedom, which he had usurped so long, and with it
the lands and revenues of his friends, the faithful
followers of his adversity.

This joyful news, as unexpected as it was welcome,
came opportunely to heighten the festivity and rejoic-
ings at the wedding of the princesses. Celia com-

78 Tales from Shakspeare

plimented her cousin on this good fortune which had
happened to the duke, Rosalind’s father, and wished
her joy very sincerely, though she herself was no
longer heir to the dukedom, but by this restoration
which her father had made, Rosalind was now the
heir : so completely was the love of these two cousins
unmixed with anything of jealousy or of envy.

The duke had now an opportunity of rewarding
those true friends who had stayed with him in his
banishment ; and these worthy followers, though they
had patiently shared his adverse fortune, were very
well pleased to return in peace and prosperity to the
palace of their lawful duke.

THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA

HERE lived in the city of Verona two young

1 gentlemen, whose names were Valentine and
Proteus, between whom a firm and uninterrupted
friendship had long subsisted. They pursued their
studies together, and their hours of leisure were always
passed in each other’s company, except when Proteus
visited a lady he was in love with ; and these visits to
his mistress, and this passion of Proteus for the fair
Julia, were the only topics on which these two friends
disagreed; for Valentine, not being himself a lover,
was sometimes a little weary of hearing his friend for
ever talking of his Julia, and then he would laugh at
Proteus, and in pleasant terms ridicule the passion of
love, and declare that no such idle fancies should ever
enter his head, greatly preferring (as he said) the free
and happy life he led, to the anxious hopes and fears
of the lover Proteus.

One morning Valentine came to Proteus to tell him
that they must for a time be separated, for that he was
going to Milan. Proteus, unwilling to part with his
friend, used many arguments to prevail upon Valentine
not to leave him : but Valentine said, “ Cease to per-
suade me, my loving Proteus. I will not, like a
sluggard, wear out my youth in idleness at home.
Home-keeping youths have ever homely wits. If
your affection were not chained to the sweet glances
of your honoured Julia, I would entreat you to accom-
pany me, to see the wonders of the world abroad ; but
since you are a lover, love on still, and may your
love be prosperous ! ”

They parted with mutual expressions of unalterable

79

G

8o Tales from Shakspeare

friendship. “ Sweet Valentine, adieu ! ” said Proteus ;

think on me, when you see some rare object worthy
of notice in your travels, and wish me partaker of your
happiness.”

Valentine began his journey that same day towards
Milan ; and when his friend had left him, Proteus sat
down to write a letter to Julia, which he gave to her
maid Lucetta to deliver to her mistress.

Julia loved Proteus as well as he did her, but she
was a lady of a noble spirit, and she thought it did not
become her maiden dignity too easily to be won ;
therefore she affected to be insensible of his passion,
and gave him much uneasiness in the prosecution of
his suit.

And when Lucetta offered the letter to Julia, she
would not receive it, and chid her maid for taking
letters from Proteus, and ordered her to leave the room.
But she so much wished to see what was written in
the letter, that she soon called in her maid again ; and
when Lucetta returned, she said, What o’clock is
it ? ” Lucetta, who knew her mistress more desired
to see the letter than to know the time of day, with-
out answering her question, again offered the rejected
letter. Julia, angry that her maid should thus take
the liberty of seeming to know what she really wanted,
tore the letter in pieces, and threw it on the floor,
ordering her maid once more out of the room. As
Lucetta was retiring, she stopped to pick up the frag-
ments of the torn letter ; but Julia, who meant not so
to part with them, said, in pretended anger, “ Go, get
you gone, and let the papers lie ; you would be
fingering them to anger me.”

Julia then began to piece together as well as she
could the torn fragments. She first made out these
words, ‘‘ Love-wounded Proteus ; ” and lamenting
over these and such like loving words, which she
made out though they were all torn asunder, or, she

The Two Gentlemen of Verona 8i

said wounded (the expression “Love-wounded Pro-
teus ” giving her that idea), she talked to these kind
words, telling them she would lodge them in her
bosom as in a bed, till their wounds were healed,
and that she would kiss each several piece, to make
amends.

In this manner she went on talking with a pretty
lady-like childishness, till finding herself unable to
make out the whole, and vexed at her own ingratitude
in destroying such sweet and loving words, as she
called them, she wrote a much kinder letter to Proteus
than she had ever done before.

Proteus was greatly delighted at receiving this
favourable answer to his letter ; and while he was
reading it, he exclaimed, “ Sweet love, sweet lines,
sweet life ! ” In the midst of his raptures he was
interrupted by his father. “ How now ! ” said the old
gentleman ; “ what letter are you reading there ? ”

“ My lord,” replied Proteus, “ it is a letter from
my friend Valentine, at Milan.”

“ Lend me the letter,” said his father : “ let me see
what news.”

“ There are no news, my lord,” said Proteus,
greatly alarmed, “ but that he writes how well beloved
he is of the duke of Milan, who daily graces him with
favours ; and how he wishes me with him, the partner
of his fortune.”

“ And how stand you affected to his wish ? ” asked
the father.

“ As one relying on your lordship’s will, and not
depending on his friendly wish,” said Proteus.

Now it had happened that Proteus’ father had just
been talking' with a friend on this very subject : his
friend had said, he wondered his lordship suffered his son
to spend his youth at home, while most men were
sending their sons to seek preferment abroad ; “ some,”
said he, “ to the wars, to try their fortunes there, and

82 Tales from Shakspeare

some to discover islands far away, and some to study
in foreign universities ; and there is his companion
Valentine, he is gone to the duke of Milan’s court.
Your son is fit for any of these things, and it will be a
great disadvantage to him in his riper age not to have
travelled in his youth.”

Proteus’ father thought the advice of his friend was
very good, and upon Proteus telling him that Valen-
tine “ wished him with him, the partner of his
fortune,” he at once determined to send his son to
Milan ; and without giving Proteus any reason for
this sudden resolution, it being the usual habit of this
positive old gentleman to command his son, not reason
with him, he said, “ My will is the same as Valentine’s
wish ; ” and seeing his son look astonished, he added.

Look not amazed, that I so suddenly resolve you
shall spend some time in the duke of Milan’s court ;
for what I will I will, and there is an end. To-morrow
be in readiness to go. Make no excuses ; for I am
peremptory.”

Proteus knew it was of no use to make objections
to his father, who never suffered him to dispute his
will ; and he blamed himself for telling his father an
untruth about Julia’s letter, which had brought upon
him the sad necessity of leaving her.

Now that Julia found she was going to lose Proteus
for so long a time, she no longer pretended indiffer-
ence ; and they bade each other a mournful farewell,
with many vows of love and constancy. Proteus and
Julia exchanged rings, which they both promised
to keep for ever in remembrance of each other ;
and thus, taking a sorrowful leave, Proteus set out
on his journey to Milan, the abode of his friend
Valentine.

Valentine was in reality what Proteus had feigned
to his father, in high favour with the duke of Milan ;
and another event had happened to him, of which

The Two Gentlemen of Verona 83

Proteus did not even dream, for Valentine had given
up the freedom of which he used so much to boast,
and was become as passionate a lover as Proteus.

She who had wrought this wondrous change in
Valentine was the lady Silvia, daughter of the duke of
Milan, and she also loved him ; but they concealed
their love from the duke, because although he showed
much kindness for Valentine, and invited him every
day to his palace, yet he designed to marry his daughter
to a young courtier whose name was Thurio. Silvia
despised this Thurio, for he had none of the fine sense
and excellent qualities of Valentine.

These two rivals, Thurio and Valentine, were one
day on a visit to Silvia, and Valentine was entertaining
Silvia with turning everything Thurio said into ridicule,
when the duke himself entered the room, and told
Valentine the welcome news of his friend Proteus’
arrival. Valentine said, “ If I had wished a thing, it
would have been to have seen him here ! ” And then
he highly praised Proteus to the duke, saying, My
lord, though I have been a truant of my time, yet
hath my friend made use and fair advantage of his
days, and is complete in person and in mind, in all
good grace to grace a gentleman.”

Welcome him then according to his worth,” said
the duke. Silvia, I speak to you, and you. Sir
Thurio; for Valentine, I need not bid him do so.”
They were here interrupted by the entrance of
Proteus, and Valentine introduced him to Silvia,
saying, Sweet lady, entertain him to be my fellow-
servant to your ladyship.”

When Valentine and Proteus had ended their visit,
and were alone together, Valentine said, Now tell
me how all does from whence you came ? How does
your lady, and how thrives your love ? ” Proteus
replied, My tales of love used to weary you. I
know you joy not in a love discourse.”

84 Tales from Shakspeare

“ Ay, Proteus,” returned Valentine, “ but that life
is altered now. I have done penance for condemning
love. For in revenge of my contempt of love, love
has chased sleep from my enthralled eyes. O gentle
Proteus, Love is a mighty lord, and hath so humbled
me, that I confess there is no woe like his correction,
nor no such joy on earth as in his service. I now
like no discourse except it be of love. Now I can
break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep, upon the very
name of love.”

This acknowledgment of the change which love
had made in the disposition of V alentine was a great
triumph to his friend Proteus. But “ friend ” Proteus
must be called no longer, for the same all-powerful
deity Love, of whom they were speaking (yea, even
while they were talking of the change he had made
in Valentine), was working in the heart of Proteus ;
and he, who had till this time been a pattern of true
love and perfect friendship, was now, in one short
interview with Silvia, become a false friend and 'a
faithless lover ; for at the first sight of Silvia all his
love for Julia vanished away like a dream, nor did his
long friendship for Valentine deter him from endea-
vouring to supplant him in her affections ; and
although, as it will always be, when people of dis-
positions naturally good become unjust, he had many
scruples before he determined to forsake Julia, and
become the rival of Valentine ; yet he at length over-
came his sense of duty, and yielded himself up, almost
without remorse, to his new unhappy passion.

Valentine imparted to him in confidence the whole
history of his love, and how carefully they had con-
cealed it from the duke her father, and told him, that,
despairing of ever being able to obtain his consent,
he had prevailed upon Silvia to leave her father’s palace
that night, and go with him to Mantua ; then he
showed Proteus a ladder of ropes, by help of which

The Two Gentlemen of Verona 85

he meant to assist Silvia to get out of one of the
windows of the palace after it was dark.

Upon hearing this faithful recital of his friend’s
dearest secrets, it is hardly possible to be believed, but
so it was, that Proteus resol\)^ed to go to the duke, and
disclose the whole to him.

This false friend began his tale with many artful
speeches to the duke, such as that by the laws of
friendship he ought to conceal what he was going to
reveal, but that the gracious favour the duke had
shown him, and the duty he owed his grace, urged
him to tell that which else no worldly good should
draw from him. He then told all he had heard from
Valentine, not omitting the ladder of ropes, and the
manner in which Valentine meant to conceal them
under a long cloak.

The duke thought Proteus quite a miracle of
integrity, in that he preferred telling his friend’s inten-
tion rather than he would conceal an unjust action,
highly commended him, and promised him not to
let Valentine know from whom he had learnt this
intelligence, but by some artifice to make Valentine
betray the secret himself. For this purpose the duke
awaited the coming of Valentine in the evening, whom
he soon saw hurrying towards the palace, and he
perceived somewhat was wrapped within his cloak,
which he concluded was the rope-ladder.

The duke upon this stopped him, saying, Whither
away so fast, Valentine?” — ‘‘May it please your
grace,” said Valentine, “there is a messenger that
stays to bear my letters to my friends, and I am going
to deliver them.” Now this falsehood of Valentine’s
had no better success in the event than the untruth
Proteus told his father.

“ Be they of much import ? ” said the duke.

“No more, my lord,” said Valentine, “ than to tell
my father I am well and happy at your grace’s court.”

86 Tales from Shakspeare

‘‘ Nay then,” said the duke, no matter ; stay
with me a while. I wish your counsel about some
affairs that concern me nearly.” He then told V alentine
an artful story, as a prelude to draw his secret from him,
saying that Valentine knew he wished to match his
daughter with Thurio, but that she was stubborn and
disobedient to his commands, ‘‘ neither regarding,”
said he, ‘‘ that she is my child, nor fearing me as if I
were her father. And I may say to thee, this pride
of hers has drawn my love from her. I had thought
my age should have been cherished by her childlike
duty. I now am resolved to take a wife, and turn
her out to whosoever will take her in. Let her
beauty be her wedding dower, for me and my pos-
sessions she esteems not.”

Valentine, wondering where all this would end,
made answer, And what would your grace have me
to do in all this ? ”

‘‘ Why,” said the duke, “ the lady I would wish to
marry is nice and coy, and does not much esteem my
aged eloquence. Besides, the fashion of courtship is
much changed since I was young : now I would
willingly have you to be my tutor to instruct me how
I am to woo.”

Valentine gave him a general idea of the modes of
courtship then practised by young men, when they
wished to win a fair lady’s love, such as presents,
frequent visits, and the like.

The duke replied to this, that the lady did refuse a
present which he sent her, and that she was so strictly
kept by her father, that no man might have access to
her by day.

‘‘Why then,” said Valentine, “you must visit her
by night.”

“ But at night,” said the artful duke, who was now
coming to the drift of his discourse, “ her doors are
fast locked.”

The Two Gentlemen of Verona 87

Valentine then unfortunately proposed that the
duke should get into the lady’s chamber at night by
means of a ladder of ropes, saying he would procure
him one fitting for that purpose ; and in conclusion
advised him to conceal this ladder of ropes under such
a cloak as that which he now wore. Lend me
your cloak,” said the duke, who had feigned this long
story on purpose to have a pretence to get off the
cloak 5 so upon saying these words, he caught hold of
Valentine’s cloak, and throwing it back, he discovered
not only the ladder of ropes, but also a letter of
Silvia’s, which he instantly opened and read ; and this
letter contained a full account of their intended elope-
ment. The duke, after upbraiding Valentine for his
ingratitude in thus returning the favour he had shown
him, by endeavouring to steal away his daughter,
banished him from the court and city of Milan for
ever ; and Valentine was forced to depart that night,
without even seeing Silvia.

While Proteus at Milan was thus injuring Valen-
tine, Julia at Verona was regretting the absence of
Proteus ; and her regard for him at last so far over-
came her sense of propriety, that she resolved to leave
Verona, and seek her lover at Milan ; and to secure
herself from danger on the road, she dressed her maiden
Lucetta and herself in men’s clothes, and they set
out in this disguise, and arrived at Milan soon after
Valentine was banished from that city through the
treachery of Proteus.

Julia entered Milan about noon, and she took up
her abode at an inn ; and her thoughts being all on
her dear Proteus, she entered into conversation with
the innkeeper, or host, as he was called, thinking by
that means to learn some news of Proteus.

The host was greatly pleased that this handsome
young gentleman (as he took her to be), who from
his appearance he concluded was of high rank, spoke

88 Tales from Shakspeare

SO familiarly to him ; and being a good-natured man,
he was sorry to see him look so melancholy ; and to
amuse his young guest, he offered to take him to hear
some fine music, with which, he said, a gentleman
that evening was going to serenade his mistress.

The reason Julia looked so very melancholy was,
that she did not well know what Proteus would think
of the imprudent step she had taken ; for she knew
he had loved her for her noble maiden pride and
dignity of character, and she feared she should lower
herself in his esteem : and this it was that made her
wear a sad and thoughtful countenance.

She gladly accepted the offer of the host to go with
him, and hear the music ; for she secretly hoped she
might meet Proteus by the way.

But when she came to the palace whither the host
conducted her, a very different effect was produced to
what the kind host intended ; for there, to her heart’s
sorrow, she beheld her lover, the inconstant Proteus,,
serenading the lady Silvia with music, and addressing
discourse of love and admiration to her. And Julia
overheard Silvia from a window talk with Proteus,
and reproach him for forsaking his own true lady, and
for his ingratitude to his friend Valentine ; and then
Silvia left the window, not choosing to listen to his
music and his fine speeches ; for she was a faithful
lady to her banished Valentine, and abhorred the
ungenerous conduct of his false friend Proteus.

Though Julia was in despair at what she had just
witnessed, yet did she still love the truant Proteus ;
and hearing that he had lately parted with a servant,
she contrived with the assistance of her host, the
friendly innkeeper, to hire herself to Proteus as a
page; and Proteus knew not she was Julia, and he
sent her with letters and presents to her rival Silvia,
and he even sent by her the very ring she gave him
as a parting gift at Verona.

The Two Gentlemen of Verona 89

i When she went to that lady with the ring, she
was most glad to find that Silvia utterly rejected the
1! suit of Proteus ; and Julia, or the page Sebastian as
she was called, entered into conversation with Silvia
i about Proteus’ first love, the forsaken lady Julia.

„ She putting in (as one may say) a good word for her-
[' self, said she knew Julia ; as well she might, being
^ herself the Julia of whom she spoke ; telling how
fondly Julia loved her master Proteus, and how his
unkind neglect would grieve her : and then she with
a pretty equivocation went on : Julia is about my
height, and of my complexion, the colour of her eyes
and hair the same as mine : ” and indeed Julia looked
a most beautiful youth in her boy’s attire. Silvia
was moved to pity this lovely lady, who was so sadly
forsaken by the man she loved ; and when Julia
offered the ring which Proteus had sent, refused it,
saying, The more shame for him that he sends me
that ring ; I will not take it ; for I have often heard
him say his Julia gave it to him. I love thee,
gentle youth, for pitying her, poor lady ! Here is
a purse ; I give it you for Julia’s sake.” These
comfortable words coming from her kind rival’s
tongue cheered the drooping heart of the disguised
lady.

But to return to the banished Valentine; who scarce
knew which way to bend his course, being unwilling
to return home to his father a disgraced and banished
man : as he was wandering over a lonely forest, not
far distant from Milan, where he had left his heart’s
dear treasure, the lady Silvia, he was set upon by
robbers, who demanded his money.

Valentine told them that he was a man crossed by
adversity, that he was going into banishment, and
that he had no money, the clothes he had on being
all his riches.

The robbers, hearing that he was a distressed man,

90 Tales from Shakspeare

and being struck with his noble air and manly be-
haviour, told him if he would live with them, and be
their chief, or captain, they would put themselves
under his command ; but that if he refused to accept
their offer, they would kill him.

Valentine, who cared little what became of him-
self, said he would consent to live with them and be
their captain, provided they did no outrage on women
or poor passengers.

Thus the noble Valentine became, like Robin
Hood, of whom we read in ballads, a captain of
robbers and outlawed banditti ; and in this situation
he was found by Silvia, and in this manner it came
to pass.

Silvia, to avoid a marriage with Thurio, whom her
father insisted upon her no longer refusing, came at
last to the resolution of following Valentine to
Mantua, at which place she had heard her lover had
taken refuge ; but in this account she was misin-
formed, for he still lived in the forest among the
robbers, bearing the name of their captain, but taking
no part in their depredations, and using the authority
which they had imposed upon him in no other way
than to compel them to show compassion to the
travellers they robbed.

Silvia contrived to effect her escape from her
father’s palace in company with a worthy old gentle-
man, whose name was Eglamour, whom she took
along with her for protection on the road. She had
to pass through the forest where Valentine and the
banditti dwelt ; and one of these robbers seized on
Silvia, and would also have taken Eglamour, but he
escaped.

The robber who had taken Silvia, seeing the terror
she was in, bid her not be alarmed, for that he was
only going to carry her to a cave where his captain
lived, and that she need not be afraid, for their captain

The Two Gentlemen of Verona 91

had an honourable mind, and always showed humanity
to women. Silvia found little comfort in hearing
she was going to be carried as a prisoner before the
captain of a lawless banditti, O Valentine,” she
cried, this I endure for thee ! ”

But as the robber was conveying her to the cave
of his captain, he was stopped by Proteus, who, still
attended by Julia in the disguise of a page, having
heard of the flight of Silvia, had traced her steps to
this forest. Proteus now rescued her from the hands
of the robber ; but scarce had she time to thank him
for the service he had done her, before he began to
distress her afresh with his love suit ; and while he
was rudely pressing her to consent to marry him, and
his page (the forlorn Julia) was standing beside him
in great anxiety of mind, fearing lest the great service
which Proteus had just done to Silvia should win her
to show him some favour, they were all strangely
surprised with the sudden appearance of Valentine,
who, having heard his robbers had taken a lady
prisoner, came to console and relieve her.

Proteus was courting Silvia, and he was so much
ashamed of being caught by his friend, that he was all
at once seized with penitence and remorse ; and he
expressed such a lively sorrow for the injuries he had
done to Valentine, that Valentine, whose nature was
noble and generous, even to a romantic degree, not
only forgave and restored him to his former place in
his friendship, but in a sudden flight of heroism he
said, ‘‘ I freely do forgive you ; and all the interest I
have in Silvia, I give it up to you.” Julia, who was
standing beside her master as a page, hearing this
strange offer, and fearing Proteus would not be able
with this new-found virtue to refuse Silvia, fainted,
and they were all employed in recovering her : else
would Silvia have been offended at being thus made
over to Proteus, though she could scarcely think that

92 Tales from Shakspeare

Valentine would long persevere in this overstrained
and too generous act of friendship. When Julia
recovered from the fainting fit, she said, I had for-
got, my master ordered me to deliver this ring to
Silvia.” Proteus, looking upon the ring, saw that it
was the one he gave to Julia, in return for that which
he received from her, and which he had sent by the
supposed page to Silvia. How is this ? ” said he,

this is Julia’s ring : how came you by it, boy ? ”
Julia answered, “Julia herself did give it me, and
Julia herself hath brought it hither.”

Proteus, now looking earnestly upon her, plainly
perceived that the page Sebastian was no other than
the lady Julia herself ; and the proof she had given
of her constancy and true love so wrought in him,
that his love for her returned into his heart, and he
took again his own dear lady, and joyfully resigned
all pretensions to the lady Silvia to Valentine, who
had so well deserved her.

Proteus and Valentine were expressing their happi-
ness in their reconciliation, and in the love of their
faithful ladies when they were surprised with the sight
of the duke of Milan and Thurio, who came there in
pursuit of Silvia.

Thurio first approached, and attempted to seize
Silvia, saying, “Silvia is mine.” Upon this Valentine
said to him in a very spirited manner, “ Thurio, keep
back : if once again you say that Silvia is yours, you
shall embrace your death. Here she stands, take but
possession of her with a torch ! I dare you but to
breathe upon my love.” Hearing this threat, Thurio,
who was a great coward, drew back, and said he cared
not for her, and that none but a fool would fight for
a girl who loved him not.

The duke, who was a very brave man himself,
said now in great anger, “The more base and
degenerate in you to take such means for her as you

The Two Gentlemen of Verona 93

have done, and leave her on such slight conditions.”
Then turning to Valentine, he said, do applaud
your spirit, Valentine, and think you W'orthy of an
empress’ love. You shall have Silvia, for you have
well deserved her.” Valentine then with great
humility kissed the duke’s hand, and accepted the
noble present which he had made him of his daughter
with becoming thankfulness : taking occasion of this
joyful minute to entreat the good-humoured duke to
pardon the thieves with whom he had associated in
the forest, assuring him, that when reformed and
restored to society, there would be found among them
many good, and fit for great employment ; for the
most of them had been banished, like Valentine, for
state offences, rather than for any black crimes they
had been guilty of. To this the ready duke con-
sented : and now nothing remained but that Proteus,
the false friend, was ordained, by way of penance for
his love-prompted faults, to be present at the recital
of the whole story of his loves and falsehoods before
the duke ; and the shame of the recital to his
awakened conscience was judged sufficient punish-
ment ; which being done, the lovers, all four, returned
back to Milan, and their nuptials were solemnised in
the presence of the duke, with high triumphs and
feasting.

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE

3

SHYLOCK, the Jew, lived at Venice : he was anj
usurer, who had amassed an immense fortune;
by lending money at great interest to Christian y
merchants. Shylock, being a hard-hearted man, ex- ,
acted the payment of the money he lent with such |
severity that he was much disliked by all good men, i
and particularly by Antonio, a young merchant of
Venice; and Shylock as much hated Antonio, be-
cause he used to lend money to people in distress,
and would never take any interest for the money he
lent ; therefore there was great enmity between this
covetous Jew and the generous merchant Antonio
Whenever Antonio met Shylock on the Rialto (or
Exchange), he used to reproach him with his usuries
and hard dealings, which the Jew would bear with
seeming patience, while he secretly meditated revenge.

Antonio was the kindest man that lived, the best
conditioned, and had the most unwearied spirit in
doing courtesies ; indeed, he was one in whom the
ancient Roman honour more appeared than in any
that drew breath in Italy. He was greatly beloved
by all his fellow-citizens ; but the friend who was
nearest and dearest to his heart was Bassanio, a noble
Venetian, who, having but a small patrimony, had
nearly exhausted his little fortune by living in too
expensive a manner for his slender means, as young
men of high rank with small fortunes are too apt to
do. Whenever Bassanio wanted money, Antonio
assisted him ; and it seemed as if they had but one
heart and one purse between them.

One day Bassanio came to Antonio, and told him

94

The Merchant of Venice 95

that he wished to repair his fortune by a wealthy
marriage with a lady whom he dearly loved, whose
father, that was lately dead, had left her sole heiress
to a large estate ; and that in her father’s lifetime he
used to visit at her house, when he thought he had
observed this lady had sometimes from her eyes sent
speechless messages, that seemed to say he would be
no unwelcome suitor ; but not having money to
furnish himself with an appearance befitting the lover
of so rich an heiress, he besought Antonio to add to
the many favours he had shown him, by lending him
three thousand ducats.

Antonio had no money by him at that time to
lend his friend ; but expecting soon to have some
ships come home laden with merchandise, he said he
would go to Shylock, the rich money-lender, and
borrow the money upon the credit of those ships.

Antonio and Bassanio went together to Shylock,
and Antonio asked the Jew to lend him three
thousand ducats upon any interest he should require,
to be paid out of the merchandise contained in his
ships at sea. On this, Shylock thought within him-
self, ‘‘ If I can once catch him on the hip, I will feed
fat the ancient grudge I bear him ; he hates our
Jewish nation ; he lends out money gratis, and
among the merchants he rails at me and my well-
earned bargains, which he calls interest. Cursed be
my tribe if I forgive him ! ” Antonio finding he
was musing within himself and did not answer, and
being impatient for the money, said, Shylock, do
you hear? will you lend the money?” To this
question the Jew replied, ^‘Signior Antonio, on the
Rialto many a time and often you have railed at me
about my monies and my usuries, and I have borne
it with a patient shrug, for sufferance is the badge
of all our tribe ; and then you have called me un-
believer, cut-throat dog, and spit upon my Jewish

H

g6 Tales from Shakspeare

garments, and spurned at me with your foot, as if I
was a cur. Well then, it now appears you need my
help ; and you come to me, and say, Shylock^ lend me
monies. Has a dog money ? Is it possible a cur
should lend three thousand ducats ? Shall I bend
low and say. Fair sir, you spit upon me on Wednes-
day last, another time you called me dog, and for
these courtesies I am to lend you monies.” Antonio
replied, I am as like to call you so again, to spit on
you again, and spurn you too. If you will lend me
this money, lend it not to me as to a friend, but
rather lend it to me as to an enemy, that, if I break,
you may with better face exact the penalty.” — ‘‘Why,
look you,” said Shylock, “ how you storm ! I would
be friends with you, and have your love. I will
forget the shames you have put upon me. I will
supply your wants, and take no interest for my
money.” This seemingly kind offer greatly surprised
Antonio ; and then Shylock, still pretending kindness,
and that all he did was to gain Antonio’s love, again
said he would lend him the three thousand ducats,
and take no interest for his money ; only Antonio
should go with him to a lawyer, and there sign in
merry sport a bond, that if he did not repay the
money by a certain day, he would forfeit a pound of
flesh, to be cut off from any part of his body that
Shylock pleased.

“ Content,” said Antonio : “ I will sign to this
bond, and say there is much kindness in the
Jew.”

Bassanio said Antonio should not sign to such a
bond for him ; but still Antonio insisted that he
would sign it, for that before the day of payment
came, his ships would return laden with many times
the value of the money.

Shylock, hearing this debate, exclaimed, “O, father
Abraham, what suspicious people these Christians

The Merchant of Venice 97

are ! Their own hard dealings teach them to suspect
the thoughts of others. I pray you tell me this,
Bassanio : if he should break his day, what should I
gain by the exaction of the forfeiture ? A pound of
man’s flesh, taken from a man, is not so estimable,
nor profitable neither, as the flesh of mutton or beef.
I say, to buy his favour I offer this friendship; if he
will take it, so ; if not, adieu.”

At last, against the advice of Bassanio, who, not-
withstanding all the Jew had said of his kind
intentions, did not like his friend should run the
hazard of this shocking penalty for his sake, Antonio
signed the bond, thinking it really was (as the Jew
said) merely in sport.

The rich heiress that Bassanio wished to marry
lived near Venice, at a place called Belmont; her
name was Portia, and in the graces of her person and
her mind she was nothing inferior to that Portia, of
whom we read, who was Cato’s daughter, and the
wife of Brutus.

Bassanio being so kindly supplied with money by
his friend Antonio, at the hazard of his life, set out
for Belmont with a splendid train, and attended by a
gentleman of the name of Gratiano.

Bassanio proving successful in his suit, Portia
in a short time consented to accept of him for a
husband. >

Bassanio confessed to Portia that he had no fortune,
and that his high birth and noble ancestry was all
that he could boast of ; she, who loved him for his
worthy qualities, and had riches enough not to regard
wealth in a husband, answered with a graceful
modesty, that she would wish herself a thousand
times more fair, and ten thousand times more rich,
to be more worthy of him ; and then the accom-
plished Portia prettily dispraised herself, and said she
was an unlessoned girl, unschooled, unpractised, yet

98 Tales from Shakspeare

not so old but that she could learn, and that she
would commit her gentle spirit to be directed and
governed by him in all things; and she said, Myself
and what is mine, to you and yours is now converted.
But yesterday, Bassanio, I was the lady of this fair
mansion, queen of myself, and mistress over these
servants ; and now this house, these servants, and
myself, are yours, my lord ; I give them with this
ring ; ” presenting a ring to Bassanio.

Bassanio was so overpowered with gratitude and
wonder at the gracious manner in which the rich
and noble Portia accepted of a man of his humble
fortunes, that he could not express his joy and
reverence to the dear lady who so honoured him,
by anything but broken words of love and thankful-
ness ; and taking the ring, he vowed never to part
with it.

Gratiano and Nerissa, Portia’s waiting-maid, were
in attendance upon their lord and lady, when Portia
so gracefully promised to become the obedient wife of
Bassanio ; and Gratiano, wishing Bassanio and the
generous lady joy, desired permission to be married at
the same time.

“With all my heart, Gratiano,” said Bassanio,
“ if you can get a wife.”

Gratiano then said that he loved the lady Portia’s
fair waiting gentlewoman Nerissa, and that she had
promised to be his wife, if her lady married Bassanio.
Portia asked Nerissa if this was true. Nerissa replied,
“ Madam, it is so, if you approve of it.” Portia
willingly consenting, Bassanio pleasantly said, “ Then
our wedding-feast shall be much honoured by your
marriage, Gratiano.”

The happiness of these lovers was sadly crossed
at this moment by the entrance of a messenger, who
brought a letter from Antonio containing fearful
tidings. When Bassanio read Antonio’s letter, Portia

The Merchant of Venice 99

feared it was to tell him of the death of some dear
friend, he looked so pale ; and inquiring what was
the news which had so distressed him, he said, O
sweet Portia, here are a few of the unpleasantest
words that ever blotted paper ; gentle lady, when
I first imparted my love to you, I freely told you all
the wealth I had ran in my veins ; but I should have
told you that I had less than nothing, being in debt.”
Bassanio then told Portia what has been here related,
of his borrowing the money of Antonio, and of
Antonio’s procuring it of Shylock the Jew, and of the
bond by which Antonio had engaged to forfeit a
pound of flesh, if it was not repaid by a certain day :
and then Bassanio read Antonio’s letter ; the words of
which were, ‘‘ Sweet Bassanio, my ships are all lost^ my
bond to the Jew is forfeited, and since in paying it is
impossible 1 should live^ I could wish to see you at my
death ; notwithstanding^ use your pleasure ; if your love
for me do not persuade you to come^ let not my letter^

O, my dear love,” said Portia, despatch all
business, and begone \ you shall have gold to pay the
money twenty times over, before this kind friend shall
lose a hair by my Bassanio’s fault ; and as you are so
dearly bought, I will dearly love you.” Portia then
said she would be married to Bassanio before he set
out, to give him a legal right to her money ; and that
same day they were married, and Gratiano was also
married to Nerissa ; and Bassanio and Gratiano, the
instant they were married, set out in great haste for
Venice, where Bassanio found Antonio in prison.

The day of payment being past, the cruel Jew
would not accept of the money which Bassanio
offered him, but insisted upon having a pound of
Antonio’s flesh. A day was appointed to try this
shocking cause before the Duke of Venice, and
Bassanio awaited in dreadful suspense the event of
the trial.

loo Tales from Shakspeare

When Portia parted with her husband, she spoke
cheeringly to him, and bade him bring his dear
friend along with him when he returned ; yet she
feared it would go hard with Antonio, and when she
was left alone, she began to think and consider within
herself, if she could by any means be instrumental in
saving the life of her dear Bassanio’s friend ; and
notwithstanding when she wished to honour her
Bassanio, she had said to him with such a meek and
wife-like grace, that she would submit in all things to
be governed by his superior wisdom, yet being now
called forth into action by the peril of her honoured
husband’s friend, she did nothing doubt her own
powers, and by the sole guidance of her own true and
perfect judgment, at once resolved to go herself to
Venice, and speak in Antonio’s defence.

Portia had a relation who was a counsellor in the
law ; to this gentleman, whose i name was Bellario,
she wrote, and stating the case to him, desired his
opinion, and that with his advice he would also send
her the dress worn by a counsellor. When the
messenger returned, he brought letters from Bellario
of advice how to proceed, and also everything
necessary for her equipment.

Portia dressed herself and her maid Nerissa in
men’s apparel, and putting on the robes of a coun-
sellor, she took Nerissa along with her as her clerk ;
and setting out immediately, they arrived at Venice
on the very day of the trial. The cause was just
going to be heard before the duke and senators of
Venice in the senate-house, when Portia entered this
high court of justice, and presented a letter from
Bellario, in which that learned counsellor wrote to
the duke, saying, he would have come himself to
plead for Antonio, but that he was prevented by
sickness, and he requested that the learned young
doctor Balthasar (so he called Portia) might be per-

The Merchant of Venice loi

mitted to plead in his stead. This the duke granted,
much wondering at the youthful appearance of the
stranger, who was prettily disguised by her counsellor’s
robes and her large wig.

And now began this important trial. Portia
looked around her, and she saw the merciless Jew ;
and she saw Bassanio, but he knew her not in her
disguise. He was standing beside Antonio, in an
agony of distress and fear for his friend.

The importance of the arduous task Portia had
engaged in gave this tender lady courage, and she
boldly proceeded in the duty she had undertaken to
perform : and first of all she addressed herself to
Shylock ; and allowing that he had a right by the
Venetian law to have the forfeit expressed in the
bond, she spoke so sweetly of the noble quality of
mercy^ as would have softened any heart but the
unfeeling Shylock’s ; saying, that it dropped as the
gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath ;
and how mercy was a double blessing, it blessed him
that gave, and him that received it ; and how it
became monarchs better than their crowns, being an
attribute of God himself ; and that earthly power
came nearest to God’s, in proportion as mercy
tempered justice ; and she bid Shylock remember
that as we all pray for mercy, that same prayer
should teach us to show mercy. Shylock only an-
swered her by desiring to have the penalty forfeited
in the bond. Is he not able to pay the money ? ”
asked Portia. Bassanio then offered the Jew the
payment of the three thousand ducats as many times
over as he should desire ; which Shylock refusing,
and still insisting upon having a pound of Antonio’s
flesh, Bassanio begged the learned young counsellor
would endeavour to wrest the law a little, to save
Antonio’s life. But Portia gravely answered, that
laws once established must never be altered. Shy-

102 Tales from Shakspeare

lock hearing Portia say that the law might not be
altered, it seemed to him that she was pleading in his
favour, and he said, Daniel is come to judgment !
O wise young judge, how I do honour you ! How
much elder are you than your looks ! ”

Portia now desired Shylock to let her look at the
bond -y and when she had read it, she said, “ This
bond is forfeited, and by this the Jew may lawfully
claim a pound of flesh, to be by him cut ofF nearest
Antonio’s heart.” Then she said to Shylock, “ Be
merciful: take the money, and bid me tear the bond.”
But no mercy would the cruel Shylock show ; and
he said, By my soul I swear, there is no power in
the tongue of man to alter me.” — ^^Why then,
Antonio,” said Portia, ‘‘you must prepare your bosom
for the knife : ” and while Shylock was sharpening a
long knife with great eagerness to cut off the pound
of flesh, Portia said to Antonio, “ Have you anything
to say ? ” Antonio with a calm resignation replied,
that he had but little to say, for that he had prepared
his mind for death. Then he said to Bassanio,
“ Give me your hand, Bassanio ! Fare you well !
Grieve not that I am fallen into this misfortune for
you. Commend me to your honourable wife, and
tell her how I have loved you ! ” . Bassanio in the
deepest affliction replied, “ Antonio, I am married to
a wife, who is as dear to me as life itself ; but life
itself, my wife, and all the world, are not esteemed
with me above your life : I would lose all, I would
sacrifice all to this devil here, to deliver you.”

Portia hearing this, though the kind-hearted laay
was not at all offended with her husband for ex-
pressing the love he owed to so true a friend as
Antonio in these strong terms, yet could not help
answering, “Your wife would give you little thanks,
if she were present, to hear you make this offer.”
And then Gratiano, who loved to copy what his lord

Shylock was sharpening a long knife.

<r

The Merchant of Venice 103

did, thought he must make a speech like Bassanio’s,
and he said, in Nerissa’s hearing, who was writing in
her clerk’s dress by the side of Portia, have a wife,
whom I protest I love ; I wish she were in heaven,
if she could but entreat some power there to change
the cruel temper of this currish Jew.” It is well
you wish this behind her back, else you would have
but an unquiet house,” said Nerissa.

Shylock now cried out impatiently, ^‘We trifle
time ; I pray pronounce the sentence.” And now
all was awful expectation in the court, and every
heart was full of grief for Antonio.

Portia asked if the scales were ready to weigh, the
flesh; and she said to the Jew, ‘‘Shylock, you must
have some surgeon by, lest he bleed to death.” Shy-
lock, whose whole intent was that Antonio should
bleed to death, said, “ It is not so named in the
bond.” Portia replied, “It is not so named in the
bond, but what of that ? It were good you did so
much for charity.” To this all the answer Shylock
would make was, “ I cannot find it ; it is not in the
bond.” “Then,” said Portia, “a pound of Antonio’s
flesh is thine. The law allows it, and the court
awards it. And you may cut this flesh from off his
breast. The law allows it and the court awards it.”
Again Shylock exclaimed, “ O wise and upright
judge ! A Daniel is come to judgment ! ” And
then he sharpened his long knife again, and looking
eagerly on Antonio, he said, “ Come, prepare ! ”

“ Tarry a little, Jew,” said Portia ; “ there is
something else. This bond here gives you no drop
of blood ; the words expressly are, ‘ a pound of
flesh.’ If in the cutting off the pound of flesh you
shed one drop of Christian blood, your lands and
goods are by the law to be confiscated to the state of
Venice.” Now as it was utterly impossible for Shy-
lock to cut off the pound of flesh without shedding

104 Tales from Shakspeare

some of Antonio’s blood, this wise discovery of
Portia’s, that it was flesh and not blood that was
named in the bond, saved the life of Antonio ; and
all admiring the wonderful sagacity of the young
counsellor, who had so happily thought of this expe-
dient, plaudits resounded from every part of the
senate-house ; and Gratiano exclaimed, in the words
which Shylock had used, ‘‘ O wise and upright judge !
mark, Jew, a Daniel is come to judgment ! ”

Shylock, finding himself defeated in his cruel
intent, said with a disappointed look, that he would
take the money ; and Bassanio, rejoiced beyond
measure at Antonio’s unexpected deliverance, cried
out, ‘‘ Here is the money ! ” But Portia stopped
him, saying, Softly ; there is no haste ; the Jew
shall have nothing but the penalty : therefore prepare,
Shylock, to cut off the flesh ; but mind you shed no
blood : nor do not cut off more nor less than just a
pound ; be it more or less by one poor scruple, nay if
the scale turn but by the weight of a single hair, you
are condemned by the laws of Venice to die, and all
your wealth is forfeited to the senate.” “ Give me
my money, and let me go,” said Shylock. ‘‘ I have
it ready,” said Bassanio : ‘‘ here it is.”

Shylock was going to take the money, when
Portia again stopped him, saying, ‘‘Tarry, Jew; I
have yet another hold upon you. By the laws of
Venice, your wealth is forfeited to the state, for
having conspired against the life of one of its citizens,
and your life lies at the mercy of the duke ; there-
fore, down on your knees, and ask him to pardon
you.”

The duke then said to Shylock, “ That you may
see the diflFerence of our Christian spirit, I pardon you
your life before you ask it ; half your wealth belongs
to Antonio, the other half comes to the state.”

The generous Antonio then said that he would

The Merchant of Venice 105

give up his share of Shylock’s wealth, if Shylock
would sign a deed to make it over at his death to
his daughter and her husband ; for Antonio knew
that the Jew had an only daughter who had lately
married against his consent to a young Christian, named
Lorenzo, a friend of Antonio’s, which had so offended
Shylock, that he had disinherited her.

The Jew agreed to this : and being thus dis-
appointed in his revenge, and despoiled of his riches,
he said, “ I am ill. Let me go home ; send the
deed after me, and I will sign over half my riches to
my daughter.” — Get thee gone, then,” said the
duke, and sign it ; and if you repent your cruelty
and turn Christian, the state will forgive you the fine
of the other half of your riches.”

The duke now released Antonio, and dismissed the
court. He then highly praised the wisdom and
ingenuity of the young counsellor, and invited him
home to dinner. Portia, who meant to return to
Belmont before her husband, replied, “I humbly
thank your grace, but I must away directly.” The
duke said he was sorry he had not leisure to stay and
dine with him ; and turning to Antonio, he added,
“ Reward this gentleman ; for in my mind you are
much indebted to him.”

The duke and his senators left the court ; and
then Bassanio said to Portia, Most worthy gentle-
man, I and my friend Antonio have by your
wisdom been this day acquitted of grievous penalties,
and I beg you will accept of the three thousand
ducats due unto the Jew.” “ And we shall stand
indebted to you over and above,” said Antonio, in
love and service evermore.”

Portia could not be prevailed upon to accept the
money ; but upon Bassanio still pressing her to
accept of some reward, she said, Give me your
gloves ; I will wear them for your sake ; ” and then

io6 Tales from Shakspeare

Bassanio taking off his gloves, she espied the ring
which she had given him upon his finger : now it
was the ring the wily lady wanted to get from him
to make a merry jest when she saw her Bassanio
again, that made her ask him for his gloves ; and she
said, when she saw the ring, ‘‘ and for your love I
will take this ring from you.” Bassanio was sadly
distressed that the counsellor should ask him for the
only thing he could not part with, and he replied in
great confusion, that he could not give him that ring,
because it was his wife’s gift, and he had vowed never
to part with it ; but that he would give him the
most valuable ring in Venice, and find it out by
proclamation. On this Portia affected to be
affronted, and left the court, saying, ‘‘ You teach, m?,
sir, how a beggar should be answered.”

Dear Bassanio,” said Antonio, “ let him have the
ring ; let my love and the great service he has done
for me be valued against your wife’s displeasure.”
Bassanio, ashamed to appear so ungrateful, yielded,
and sent Gratiano after Portia with the ring ; and
then the clerk Nerissa, who had also given Gratiano a
ring, she begged his ring, and Gratiano (not choosing
to be outdone in generosity by his lord) gave it to
her. And there was laughing among these ladies to
think, when they got home, how they would tax
their husbands with giving away their rings, and
swear that they had given them as a present to some
woman.

Portia, when she returned, was in that happy
temper of mind which never fails to attend the con-
sciousness of having performed a good action ; her
cheerful spirits enjoyed everything she saw : the
moon never seemed to shine so bright before ; and
when that pleasant moon was hid behind a cloud,
then a light which she saw from her „ house at
Belmont as well pleased her charmed fancy^, and she

io6

The Merchant of Venice 107

said to Nerissa, “ That light we see is burning in my
hall ; how far that little candle throws its beams, so
shines a good deed in a naughty world ; ” and
hearing the sound of music from her house, she said,
“ Methinks that music sounds much sweeter than by
day.’’

And now Portia and Nerissa entered the house,
and dressing themselves in their own apparel, they
awaited the arrival of their husbands, who soon
followed them with Antonio 5 and Bassanio present-
ing his dear friend to the lady Portia, the congratula-
tions and welcomings of that lady were hardly over,
when they perceived Nerissa and her husband
quarrelling in a corner of the room. “ A quarrel
already ? ” said Portia. What is the matter ? ”
Gratiano replied, Lady, it is about a paltry gilt ring
that Nerissa gave me, with words upon it like the
poetry on a cutler’s knife ; Love me, and leave me
not''

“ What does the poetry or the value of the ring
signify ?” said Nerissa. You swore to me when I
gave it to you, that you would keep it till the hour of
death ; and now you say you gave it to the lawyer’s
clerk. I know you gave it to a woman.” — By this
hand,” replied Gratiano, “ I gave it to a youth, a
kind of boy, a little scrubbed boy, no higher than
yourself; he was clerk to the young counsellor that
by his wise pleading saved Antonio’s life : this
prating boy begged it for a fee, and I could not for
my life deny him.” Portia said, ‘‘ Y ou were to
blame, Gratiano, to part with your wife’s first gift.
I gave my lord Bassanio a ring, and I am sure he
would not part with it for all the world.” Gratiano,
in excuse for his fault, now said, “ My lord Bassanio
gave his ring away to the counsellor, and then the
boy, his clerk, that took some pains in writing, he
begged my ring.”

io8 Tales from Shakspeare

Portia, hearing this, seemed very angry, and
reproached Bassanio for giving aw^ay her ring ; and
she said, Nerissa had taught her what to believe, and
that she knew some woman had the ring. Bassanio
was very unhappy to have so offended his dear lady,
and he said with great earnestness, “ No, by my
honour, no woman had it, but a civil doctor, who
refused three thousand ducats of me, and begged the
ring, which when I denied him, he went displeased
away. What could I do, sweet Portia ? I was so
beset with shame for my seeming ingratitude, that I
was forced to send the ring after him. Pardon me,
good lady ; had you been there, I think you would
have begged the ring of me to give the worthy
doctor,”

“ Ah ! ” said Antonio, “ I am the unhappy cause
of these quarrels.”

Portia bid Antonio not to grieve at that, for that
he was welcome notwithstanding ; and then Antonio
said, I once did lend my body for Bassanio’s sake ;
and but for him to whom your husband gave the
ring, I should have now been dead. I dare be bound
again, my soul upon the forfeit, your lord will never
more break his faith with you.” — “ Then you shall
be his surety,” said Portia ; ‘‘ give him this ring, and
bid him keep it better than the other.”

When Bassanio looked at this ring, he was strangely
surprised to find it was the same he gav^e away ; and
then Portia told him how she was the young coun-
sellor, and Nerissa was her clerk ; and Bassanio
found, to his unspeakable wonder and delight, that it
was by the noble courage and wisdom of his wife
that Antonio’s life was saved.

And Portia again welcomed Antonio, and gave
him letters which by some chance had fallen into her
hands, which contained an account of Antonio’s
ships, that were supposed lost, being safely arrived in

The Merchant of Venice 109

the harbour. So these tragical beginnings of this
rich merchant’s story were all forgotten in the u'n-
expected good fortune which ensued ; and there was
leisure to laugh at the comical adventure of the rings,
and the husbands that did not know their own wives :
Gratiano merrily swearing, in a sort of rhyming
speech, that

while he lived, he’d fear no other thing

So sore, as keeping safe Nerissa’s ring.

1

CYMBELINE

During the time of Augustus Caesar, Emperor
of Rome, there reigned in England (which
was then called Britain) a king whose name was
Cymbeline.

Cymbeline’s first wife died when his three children
(two sons and a daughter) were very young. Imogen,
the eldest of these children, was brought up in her
father’s court ; but by a strange chance the two sons
of Cymbeline were stolen out of their nursery, when
the eldest was but three years of age, and the youngest
quite an infant ; and Cymbeline could never discover
what was become of them, or by whom they were
conveyed away. «

Cymbeline was twice married : his second wife
was a wicked, plotting woman, and a cruel step-
mother to Imogen, Cymbeline’s daughter by his
first wife.

The queen, though she hated Imogen, yet wished
her to marry a son of her own by a former husband
(she also having been twice married) : for by this
means she hoped upon the death of Cym.beline to
place the crown of Britain upon the head of her
son Cloten ; for she knew that, if the king’s sons
were not found, the princess Imogen must be the
king’s heir. But this design was prevented by Imogen
herself, who married without the consent or even
knowledge of her father or the queen.

Posthumus (for that was the name of Imogen’s
husband) was the best scholar and most accomplished
gentleman of that age. His father died fighting in
the wars for Cymbeline, and soon after his birth

no

Cymbeline 1 1 1

his mother died also for grief at the loss of her
husband.

Cymbeline, pitying the helpless state of this orphan,
took Posthumus (Cymbeline having given him that
name, because he was born after his father’s death),
and educated him in his own court.

Imogen and Posthumus were both taught by
the same masters, and were playfellows from their
infancy ; they loved each other tenderly when they
were children, and their affection continuing to
increase with their years, when they grew up they
privately married.

The disappointed queen soon learnt this secret,
for she kept spies constantly in watch upon the
actions of her daughter-in-law, and she immediately
told the king of the marriage of Imogen with
Posthumus.

Nothing could exceed the wrath of Cymbeline,
when he heard that his daughter had been so for-
getful of her high dignity as to marry a subject.
He commanded Posthumus to leave Britain, and
banished him from his native country for ever.

The queen, who pretended to pity Imogen for
the grief she suffered at losing her husband, offered
to procure them a private meeting before Posthumus
set out on his journey to Rome, which place he had
chosen for his residence in his banishment : this
seeming kindness she showed, the better to succeed
in her future designs in ‘'regard to her son Cloten ;
for she meant to persuade Imogen, when her husband
was gone, that her marriage was not lawful, being
contracted without the consent of the king.

Imogen and Posthumus took a most affectionate
leave of each other. Imogen gave her husband a
diamond ring, which had been her mother’s, and
Posthumus promised never to part with the ring ;
and he fastened a bracelet on the arm of his wife,

1 12 Tales from Shakspeare

which he begged she would preserve with great care,
as a token of his love ; they then bid each other
farewell, with many vows of everlasting love and
fidelity.

Imogen remained a solitary and dejected lady in
her father’s court, and Posthumus arrived at Rome,
the place he had chosen for his banishment.

Posthumus fell into company at Rome with some
gay young men of different nations, who were talking
freely of ladies: each one praising the ladies of his
own country, and his own mistress. Posthumus, who
had ever his own dear lady in his mind, affirmed that
his wife, the fair Imogen, was the most virtuous,
wise and constant lady in the world.

One of those gentlemen, whose name was lachimo,
being offended that a lady of Britain should be so
praised above the Roman ladies, his country-women,
provoked Posthumus by seeming to doubt the
constancy of his so highly-praised wife ; and at
length, after much altercation. Posthumus consented
to a proposal of lachimo’s, that he (lachimo) should
go to Britain, and endeavour to gain the love of the
married Imogen. They then laid a wager, that if
lachimo did not succeed in this wicked design, he was
to forfeit a large sum of money ; but if he could win
Imogen’s favour, and prevail upon her to give him
the bracelet which Posthumus had so earnestly desired
she would keep as a token of his love, then the wager
was to terminate with Posthumus giving to lachimo
the ring, which was Imogen’s love present when she
parted with her husband. Such firm faith had Posthu-
mus in the fidelity of Imogen, that he thought he ran
no hazard in this trial of her honour.

lachimo, on his arrival in Britain, gained admit-
tance, and a courteous welcome from Imogen, as a
friend of her husband ; but when he began to make
professions of love to her, she repulsed him with

Cymbeline 113

disdain, and he soon found that he could have no
hope of succeeding in his dishonourable design.

The desire lachimo had to win the wager made
him now have recourse to a stratagem to impose upon
Posthumus, and for this purpose he bribed some of
Imogen’s attendants, and was by them conveyed into
her bedchamber, concealed in a large trunk, where
he remained shut up till Imogen was retired to rest,
and had fallen asleep ; and then getting out of the
trunk, he examined the chamber with great atten-
tion, and wrote do\vn everything he saw there, and
particularly noticed a mole which he observed upon
Imogen’s neck, and then softly unloosing the bracelet
from her arm, which Posthumus had given to her, he
retired into the chest again ; and the next day he set
off for Rome with great expedition, and boasted to
Posthumus that Imogen had given him the bracelet,
and likewise permitted him to pass a night in her
chamber : and in this manner lachimo told his false
tale : Her bedchamber,” said he, was hung with
tapestry of silk and silver, the story was the proud
Cleopatra when she met her Anthony^ a piece of work
most bravely wrought.”

This is true,” said Posthumus ; “ but this you
might have heard spoken of without seeing.”

‘^Then the chimney,” said lachimo, “is south of
the chamber, and the chimney-piece is Diana bathings
never saw I figures livelier expressed.”

“ This is a thing you might have likewise heard,”
said Posthumus ; “ for it is much talked of.”

lachimo as accurately described the roof of the
chamber ; and added, “ I had almost forgot her and-
irons ; they were two winking Cupids made of silver,
each on one foot standing.” He then took out the
bracelet, and said, “ Know you this jewel, sir ? She
gave me this. She took it from her arm. I see her
yet ; her pretty action did outsell her gift, and yet

1 14 Tales from Shakspeare

enriched it too. She gave it me, and said, she prized
it once^ He last of all described the mole he had
observed upon her neck.

Posthumus, w^ho had heard the whole of this artful
recital in an agony of doubt, now broke out into the
most passionate exclamations against Imogen. He
delivered up the diamond ring to lachimo, which
he had agreed to forfeit to him, if he obtained the
bracelet from Imogen.

Posthumus then in a jealous rage wrote to Pisanio,
a gentleman of Britain, who was one of Imogen’s
attendants, and had long been a faithful friend to
Posthumus ; and after telling him what proof he had
of his wife’s disloyalty, he desired Pisanio would take
Imogen to Milford-Haven, a seaport of Wales, and
there kill her. And at the same time he wrote a
deceitful letter to Imogen, desiring her to go with
Pisanio, for that finding he could live no longer with-
out seeing her, though he was forbidden upon pain of
death to return to Britain, he would come to Milford-
Haven, at which place he begged she would meet
him. She, good unsuspecting lady, who loved her
husband above all things, and desired more than her
life to see him, hastened her departure with Pisanio,
and the same night she received the letter she set
out.

When their journey was nearly at an end, Pisanio,
who, though faithful to Posthumus, was not faithful
to serve him in an evil deed, disclosed to Imogen the
cruel order he had received.

Imogen, who, instead of meeting a loving and
beloved husband, found herself doomed by that
husband to suffer death, was afflicted beyond measure.

Pisanio persuaded her to take comfort, and wait
with patient fortitude for the time when Posthumus
should see and repent his injustice : in the meantime,
as she refused in her distress to return to her father’s

Cymbeline 115

court, he advised her to dress herself in boy’s clothes
for more security in travelling ; to which advice she
agreed, and thought in that disguise she would go
over to Rome, and see her husband, whom, though
he had used her so barbarously, she could not forget
to love.

When Pisanio had provided her with her new
apparel, he left her to her uncertain fortune, being
obliged to return to court ; but before he departed
he gave her a phial of cordial, which he said the
queen had given him as a sovereign remedy in all
disorders.

The queen, who hated Pisanio because he was a
friend to Imogen and Posthumus, gave him this phial,
which she supposed contained poison, she having
ordered her physician to give her some poison, to
try its effects (as she said) upon animals ; but the
physician, knowing her malicious disposition, would
not trust her with real poison, but gave her a drug
which would do no other mischief than causing a
person to sleep with every appearance of death for
a few hours. This mixture, which Pisanio thought
a choice cordial, he gave to Imogen, desiring her,
if she found herself ill upon the road, to take it ;
and so, with blessings and prayers for her safety and
happy deliverance from her undeserved troubles, he
left her.

Providence strangely directed Imogen’s steps to
the dwelling of her two brothers, who had been
stolen away in their infancy. Bellarius, who stole
them away, was a lord in the court of Cymbeline,
and having been falsely accused to the king of treason,
and banished from the court, in revenge he stole away
the two sons of Cymbeline, and brought them up in
a forest, where he lived concealed in a cave. He
stole them through revenge, but he soon loved them
as tenderly as if they had been his own children.

ii6 Tales from Shakspeare

educated them carefully, and they grew up fine
youths, their princely spirits leading them to bold
and daring actions ; and as they subsisted by hunting,
they were active and hardy, and were always pressing
their supposed father to let them seek their fortune
in the wars.

At the cave where these youths dwelt it was
Imogen’s fortune to arrive. She had lost her way
in a large forest, through which her road lay to
Milford-Haven (from which she meant to embark for
Rome) ; and being unable to find any place where
she could purchase food, she was with weariness and
hunger almost dying ; for it is not merely putting on
a man’s apparel that will enable a young lady, tenderly
brought up, to bear the fatigue of wandering about
lonely forests like a man. Seeing this cave, she
entered, hoping to find some one within of whom
she could procure food. She found the cave empty,
but looking about she discovered some cold meat, and
her hunger was so pressing, that she could not wait
for an invitation, but sat down and began to eat.
“ Ah,” said she, talking to herself, “ I see a man’s life
is a tedious one ; how tired am I ! for two nights
together I have made the ground my bed : my resolu-
tion helps me, or I should be sick. When Pisanio
showed me Milford-Haven from the mountain top,
how near it seemed ! ” Then the thoughts of her
husband and his cruel mandate came across her,
and she said, My dear Posthumus, thou art a false
one ! ”

The two brothers of Imogen, who had been
hunting with their reputed father, Bellarius, were
by this time returned home. Bellarius had given
them the names of Polydore and Cadwal, and they
knew no better, but supposed that Bellarius was their
father ; but the real names of these princes were
Guiderius and Arviragus.

Cymbeline 117

Bellarius entered the cave first, and seeing Imogen,
stopped them, saying, Come not in yet ; it eats our
victuals, or I should think it was a fairy.”

“ What is the matter, sir ? ” said the young men.

By Jupiter,” said Bellarius again, there is an angel
in the cave, or if not, an earthly paragon.” So
beautiful did Imogen look in her boy’s apparel.

She, hearing the sound of voices, came forth from
the cave, and addressed them in these words : Good
masters, do not harm me ; before I entered your cave,
I had thought to have begged or bought what I have
eaten. Indeed I have stolen nothing, nor would I,
though I had found gold strewed on the floor. Here
is money for my meat, which I would have left on
the board when I had made my meal, and parted with
prayers for the provider.” They refused her money
with great earnestness. I see you are angry with
me,” said the timid Imogen ; but, sirs, if you kill
me for my fault, know that I should have died if I
had not made it.”

‘‘ Whither are you bound ? ” asked Bellarius, “ and
what is your name ? ”

“ Fidele is my name,” answered Imogen. “ I have
a kinsman, who is bound for Italy ; he embarked at
Milford- Haven, to whom being going, almost spent
with hunger, I am fallen into this offence.”

Prithee, fair youth,” said old Bellarius, do not
think us churls, nor measure our good minds by this
rude place we live in. You are well encountered ; it
is almost night. You shall have better cheer before
you depart, and thanks to stay and eat it. Boys, bid
him welcome.”

The gentle youths, her brothers, then welcomed
Imogen to their cave with many kind expressions,
saying they would love her (or, as they said, him)
as a brother ; and they entered the cave, where
(they having killed venison when they were hunting)

ii8 Tales from Shakspeare

Imogen delighted them with her neat housewifery,
assisting them in preparing their supper ; for though
it is not the custom now for young women of high
birth to understand cookery, it was then, and Imogen
excelled in this useful art ; and, as her brothers prettily
expressed it, Fidele cut their roots in characters, and
sauced their broth, as if Juno had been sick, and Fidele
were her dieter. ‘‘ And then,” said Polydore to his
brother, ‘‘ how angel-like he sings ! ”

They also remarked to each other, that though
Fidele smiled so sweetly, yet so sad a melancholy did
overcloud his lovely face, as if grief and patience had
together taken possession of him.

For these her gentle qualities (or perhaps it was
their near relationship, though they knew it not)
Imogen (or, as the boys called her, Fidele) became the
doting-piece of her brothers, and she scarcely less loved
them, thinking that but for the memory of her dear
Posthumus, she could live and die in the cave with
these wild forest youths ; and she gladly consented to
stay with them, till she was enough rested from the
fatigue of travelling to pursue her way to Milford-
Haven.

When the venison they had taken was all eaten
and they were going out to hunt for more, Fidele
could not accompany them because she was unwell.
Sorrow, no doubt, for her husband’s cruel usage, as
well as the fatigue of wandering in the forest, was the
cause of her illness.

They then bid her farewell, and went to their
hunt, praising all the way the noble parts and graceful
demeanour of the youth Fidele.

Imogen was no sooner left alone than she recol-
lected the cordial Pisanio had given her, and drank
it off, and presently fell into a sound and deathlike
sleep.

When Bellarius and her brothers returned from

Cymbeline 119

hunting, Polydore went first into the cave, and sup-
posing her asleep, pulled off his heavy shoes, that he
might tread softly and not awake her ; so did true
gentleness spring up in the minds of these princely
foresters ; but he soon discovered that she could not
be awakened by any noise, and concluded her to be
dead, and Polydore lamented over her with dear and
brotherly regret, as if they had never from their
infancy been parted.

Bellarius also proposed to carry her out into the
forest, and there celebrate her funeral with songs and
solemn dirges, as vvas then the custom,

Imogen’s two brothers then carried her to a shady
covert, and there laying her gently on the grass, they
sang repose to her departed spirit, and covering her
over with leaves and flowers, Polydore said, ‘‘ While
summer lasts and I live here, Fidele, I will daily strew
thy grave. The pale primrose, that flower most like
thy face ; the blue-bell, like thy clear veins ; and the
leaf of eglantine, which is not sweeter than was thy
breath ; all these will I strew over thee. Yea, and
the furred moss in winter, when there are no flowers
to cover thy sweet corse.”

When they had finished her funeral obsequies they
departed very sorrowful.

Imogen had not been long left alone, when, the
effect of the sleepy drug going off, she awaked, and
easily shaking off the slight covering of leaves and
flowers they had thrown over her, she arose, and
imagining she had been dreaming, she said, I
thought I was a cave-keeper, and cook to honest
creatures ; how came I here covered with flowers ? ”
Not being able to find her way back to the cave,
and seeing nothing of her new companions, she con-
cluded it was certainly all a dream ; and once more
Imogen set out on her weary pilgrimage, hoping at
last she should find her way to Milford-Haven, and

120 Tales from Shakspeare

thence get a passage in some ship bound for Italy ;
for all her thoughts were still with her husband
Posthumus, whom she intended to seek in the disguise
of a page.

But great events were happening at this time, of
which Imogen knew nothing ; for a war had suddenly
broken out between the Roman emperor Augustus
Caesar and Cymbeline, the king of Britain ; and a
Roman army had landed to invade Britain, and was
advanced into the very forest over which Imogen was
journeying. With this army came Posthumus.

Though Posthumus came over to Britain with the
Roman army, he did not mean to fight on their side
against his own countrymen, but intended to join the
army of Britain, and fight in the cause of his king
who had banished him.

He still believed Imogen false to him ; yet the
death of her he had so fondly loved, and by his own
orders too (Pisanio having written him a letter to say
he had obeyed his command, and that Imogen was
dead), sat heavy on his heart, and therefore he returned
to Britain, desiring either to be slain in battle, or to
be put to death by Cymbeline for returning home
from banishment.

Imogen, before she reached Milford-Haven, fell
into the hands of the Roman army ; and her presence
and deportment recommending her, she was made a
page to Lucius, the Roman general.

Cymbeline’s army now advanced to meet the
enemy, and when they entered this forest, Polydore
and Cadwal joined the king’s army. The young
men were eager to engage in acts of valour, though
they little thought they were going to fight for their
own royal father : and old Bellarius went with them
to the battle. He had long since repented of the
injury he had done to Cymbeline in carrying away
his sons ; and having been a warrior in his youth, he

Imogen ^8 two brothers then carried her to a shady covert.

Cymbeline 121

gladly joined the army to fight for the king he had so
injured.

And now a great battle commenced between the
two armies, and the Britons would have been defeated,
and Cymbeline himself killed, but for the extraordi-
nary valour of Posthumus and Bellarius and the two
sons of Cymbeline. They rescued the king, and
saved his life, and so entirely turned the fortune of
the day, that the Britons gained the victory.

When the battle was over. Posthumus, who had
not found the death he sought for, surrendered him-
self up to one of the officers of Cymbeline, willing to
suffer the death which was to be his punishment if he
returned from banishment.

Imogen and the master she served were taken
prisoners, and brought before Cymbeline, as was also
her old enemy lachimo, who was an officer in the
Roman army ; and when these prisoners were before
the king. Posthumus was brought in to receive his
sentence of death ; and at this strange juncture of
time, Bellarius with Polydore and Cadwal were also
brought before Cymbeline, to receive the rewards due
to the great services they had by their valour done for
the king. Pisanio, being one of the king’s attendants,
was likewise present.

Therefore there were now standing in the king’s
presence (but with very different hopes and fears)
Posthumus and Imogen, with her new master the
Roman general ; the faithful servant Pisanio, and the
false friend lachimo ; and likewise the two lost sons
of Cymbeline, with Bellarius, who had stolen them
away.

The Roman general was the first who spoke ; the
rest stood silent before the king, though there was
many a beating heart among them.

Imogen saw Posthumus, and knew him, though
he was in the disguise of a peasant ; but he did

122 Tales from Shakspeare

not know her in her male attire : and she knew
lachimo, and she saw a ring on his finger which she
perceived to be her own, but she did not know him
as yet to have been the author of all her troubles :
and she stood before her own father a prisoner of
war.

Pisanio knew Imogen, for it was he who had
dressed her in the garb of a boy. It is my mistress,”
thought he ; “ since she is living, let the time run on
to good or bad.” Bellarius knew her too, and softly
said to Cadwal, Is not this boy revived from death ? ”
— One sand,” replied Cadwal, “ does not more
resemble another than that sweet rosy lad is like the
dead Fidele.” — ‘^The same dead thing alive,” said
Polydore. Peace, peace,” said Bellarius ; if it
were he, I am sure he would have spoken to us.” —
“ But we saw him dead,” again whispered Polydore.
“ Be silent,” replied Bellarius.

Posthumus waited in silence to hear the welcome
sentence of his own death ; and he resolved not to
disclose to the king that he had saved his life in the
battle, lest that should move Cymbeline to pardon
him.

Lucius, the Roman general, who had taken Imogen
under his protection as his page, was the first (as has
been before said) who spoke to the king. He was a
man of high courage and noble dignity, and this was
his speech to the king : —

‘‘ I hear you take no ransom for your prisoners, but
doom them all to death : I am a Roman, and with a
Roman heart will suiFer death. But there is one
thing for which I would entreat.” Then bringing
Imogen before the king, he said, ‘‘This boy is a
Briton born. Let him be ransomed. He is my
page. Never master had a page so kind, so duteous,
so diligent on all occasions, so true, so nurse-like.
He hath done no Briton wrong, though he hath

Cymbeline 123

served a Roman. Save him, if you spare no one
beside.”

Cymbeline looked earnestly on his daughter
Imogen. He knew her not in that disguise ; but it
seemed that all-powerful Nature spake in his heart,
for he said, I have surely seen him, his face appears
familiar to me. I know not why or wherefore I
say, Live, boy ; but I give you your life, and ask of
me what boon you will, and I will grant it you.
Yea, even though it be the life of the noblest prisoner
I have.”

‘‘ I humbly thank your highness,” said Imogen.

What was then called granting a boon was the
same as a promise to give any one thing, whatever it
might be, that the person on whom that favour was
conferred chose to ask for. They all were attentive
to hear what thing the page would ask for ; and
Lucius her master said to her, ‘‘I do not beg my
life, good lad, but I know that is what you will ask
for.” — ‘‘No, no, alas ! ” said Imogen, “I have other
work in hand, good master ; your life I cannot ask
for.”

This seeming want of gratitude in the boy aston-
ished the Roman general.

Imogen then, fixing her eye on lachimo, de-
manded no other boon than this : that lachimo
should be made to confess whence he had the ring
he wore on his finger.

Cymbeline granted her this boon, and threatened
lachimo with the torture if he did not confess how
he came by the diamond ring on his finger.

lachimo then made a full acknowledgment of all
his villany, telling, as has been before related, the
whole story of his wager with Posthumus, and how
he had succeeded in imposing upon his credulity.

What Posthumus felt at hearing this proof of the
innocence of his lady cannot be expressed. He

K

124 Tales from Shakspeare

instantly came forward, and confessed to Cymbeline
the cruel sentence which he had enjoined Pisanio to
execute upon the princess ; exclaiming wildly, O
Imogen, my queen, my life, my wife ! O Imogen,
Imogen, Imogen ! ”

Imogen could not see her beloved husband in this
’distress without discovering herself, to the unutter-
able joy of Posthumus, who was thus relieved from a
weight of guilt and woe, and restored to the good
graces of the dear lady he had so cruelly treated.

Cymbeline, almost as much overwhelmed as he
with joy, at finding his lost daughter so strangely
recovered, received her to her former place in his
fatherly affection, and not only gave her husband
Posthumus his life, but consented to acknowledge
him for his son-in-law.

Bellarius chose this time of joy and reconciliation
to make his confession. He presented Polydore and
Cadwal to the king, telling him they were his two
lost sons, Guiderius and Arviragus.

Cymbeline forgave old Bellarius ; for who could
think of punishments at a season of such universal
happiness ? To find his daughter living, and his lost
sons in the persons of his young deliverers, that he
had seen so bravely fight in his defence, was
unlooked-for joy indeed !

Imogen was now at leisure to perform good
services for her late master, the Roman general
Lucius, whose life the king her father readily granted
at her request ; and by the mediation of the same
Lucius a peace was concluded between the Romans
and the Britons, which was kept inviolate many
years.

How Cymbeline’s wicked queen, through despair
of bringing her projects to pass, and touched with
remorse of conscience, sickened and died, having
first lived to see her foolish son Cloten slain in a

Cymbeline 125

quarrel which he had provoked, are events too
tragical to interrupt this happy conclusion by more
than merely touching upon. It is sufficient that all
were made happy who were deserving ; and even the
treacherous lachimo, in consideration of his villany
having missed its final aim, was dismissed without
punishment.

KING LEAR

Lear, king of Britain, had three daughters ;

r"^lj6neril, wife to the duke oi Albany ; Kegan,
wife to fhe duke of Cornwall : and a ymm:g^

mai^for whose love the king of France and duke
oTBurgundy were joint suitors, and were at this time
making stay for that purpose in the court of Lear.

The old king, worn out with age and the fatigues
of government, he being more than fourscore years
old, determined to take no further part in state
affairs, but to leave the management to younger
strengths, that he might have time to prepare for
death, which must at no long period ensue. With
this intent he called his three daughters to him, to
know from their own lips which of them loved him
best, that he might part his kingdom among them in
such proportions as their affection for him should
seem to deserve.

Goneril, the eldest, declared that she loved her
father more than words could give out, that he was
dearer to her than the light of her own eyes, dearer
than life and liberty, with a deal of such professing
stuff, which is easy to counterfeit where there is no
real love, only a few fine words delivered with con-
fidence being wanted in that case. The king,
delighted to hear from her own mouth this assur-
ance of her love, and thinking truly that her heart
went with it, in a fit of fatherly fondness bestowed
upon her and her hii<sbanff^nf» fhird>nf his ample
kiugdomw-

Then calling to him his second daughter, he
demanded what she had to say. Regan, who was

126

King Lear 127

made of the same hollow metal as her sister, was not
a whit behind in her professions, but rather declared
that what her sister had spoken came short of the
love which she professed to bear for his highness ;
insomuch that she found all other joys dead, in com-
parison with the pleasure which she took in the love
of her dear king and father.

Lear blessed himself in having such loving chil-
dren, as he thought ; and could do no less^ after the
handsome assurances which Regan had made^jhan
bestow a third of his kingdom upon her anoTTe?

husband^ equal in size to that which he had already:

given away to Goneril.^

Then turning to his youngest daughter Cordelia,
whom he called his joy, he asked what she had to
say, thinking no doubt that she would glad his ears
with the same loving speeches which her sisters had
uttered, or rather that her expressions would be so
much stronger than theirs, as she had always been
his darling, and favoured by him above either of
them. But Cordelia, disgusted with the flattery of
her sisters, whose hearts she knew were far from
their lips, and seeing that all their coaxing speeches
were only intended to wheedle the old king out of
his dominions, that they and their husbands might
reign in his lifetime, made no other reply but this, — -
that she loved his majesty according to her duty,
neither more nor less.

The king, shocked with this appearance of ingrati-
tude in his favourite child, desired her to consider her
words, and to mend her speech, lest it should mar
her fortunes.

Cordelia then told her father, that he was her
father^ that" he had given ' her breeding, and loved

her ; that she returned those duties back as was
most fit, and did obey h im, love him, and most

honour him. But thS >he could not frame her

128 Tales from Shakspeare

mouth to such large speeches as her sisters had done,
or promise to love nothing else in the world. Why
had her sisters husbands, if (as they said) they had no
love for anything but their father ? If she should
ever wed, she was sure the lord to whom she gave
her hand would want half her love, half of her care
and duty ; she should never marry like her sisters, to
love her father all.

Cordelia, who in earnest loved her old father even
almost as extravagantly as her sisters pretended to do,
would have plainly told him so at any other time,
in more daughter-like and loving terms, and without
these qualifications, which did indeed sound a little
ungracious ; but after the crafty flattering speeches
of her sisters, which she had seen drawn such extra-
vagant rewards, she thought the handsomest thing
she could do was to love and be silent. This put her
affection out ot suspicion ot mercenary ends, and
showed that she loved, but not for gain ; and that
her professions, the less ostentatious they were, had
so much the more of truth and sincerity than her
sisters’.

This plainness of speech, which Lear called
pride, so enraged the old monarch — who in his best
of times always showed much of spleen and rashness,
and in whom the dotage incident to old age had so
clouded over his reason, that he could not discern
truth from flattery, nor a gay painted speech from
words that came from the heart — that in a fury of
resentment he retracted the third part of KTr'kTTgfeni
which vet remained, and which he had reserv^HTor
Cordelia, and^^^ve it away from her, sharing it
equalLTbetweell liei two Testers ~ancl their husbands^ ~

the dukes of Albany and Cornwall ; whom he now
called to him, and in presence of all his courtiers
bestowing a coronet between them, invested them
jointly with all the power, revenue, and execution of

129

King Lear

government, only retaining to himself the name of
king ; all the rest of royalty he resigned ; with this
reservation, that himself, with a hundred kr^hts
his attendants, was to be mainr^^npH hy
course in each of his danp^hfprf?* pql^rnc in torn
So preposterous a dls^sal of his kingdom, so little
guided by reason, and so much by passion, filled all
his courtiers v^ith astonishment and sorrow ; but
none of them had the courage to interpose between
this incensed king and his wrath, except the earl of
Ksnt^ho was beginning to spea^ a good word for.
Coijlelia^ A^en the passionate Lear on pain of death
commanded him to desist ; but the good Kent was
not so to be repelled. He had been ever loyal to
Lear, whom he had honoured as a king, loved as
a father, followed as a master ; and he had never
esteemed his life further than as a pawn to wage
against his royal master’s enemies, nor feared to lose
it when Lear’s safety was the motive ; nor now that
Lear was most his own enemy, did this faithful
servant of the king forget his old principles, but man-
fully opposed Lear, to do L^ar good ; and was
unmannerly only because Lear ^as mad. He had
been a most faithful counsellor in times past to the
king, and he besought him now, that he would see
with his eyes (as he had done in many weighty
matters), and go by his advice still ; and in his best
consideration recall this hideous rashness :"^or

udgment that Lear’s

himTeast, nor were

sound gave no token

of hollowness. When power bowed to flattery,

honour was bound to plainness. For Lear’s threats,
what could he do to him, whose life was already at
his service ? That should not hinder duty from
speaking.

The honest freedom of this good earl of Kent

would answer with his life, his j
1 “

tove

^Ho^ emptv-hearted whose low

130 Tales from Shakspeare

only stirred up the king’s wrath the more, and like
a frantic patient who kills his physician, and loves
his mortal disea<^e, he banished this true servant^ and
allotted him but five d^s to make his preparations for
departure ; but if on the sixth his hateoperson was
^und wfthin the realm of Britain, that moment was
to be his death. And^Klent bade farewell to the
Idng, and said, that since he chose to show himself in
such fashion, it was but banishment to stay there ;
and before he went, he recommended Cordelia to_the
*^pf5tection''of the gods, the maid whb~liad so rigFtly
thought, and so ^screetly"spoken ; and only wshed
that her ~sisSr?Targe~speediesmight be answered
with Feeds of love ; and then he went, ag said, to .
shape~his old^urse to a new country.

ITie king of France and duke of Burgundy were
now called in to hear the determination of Lear
about his youngest daughter, and to know whether
they would persist in their courtship to Cordelia,
now that she was under her father’s displeasure, and
had no fortune but her own person to recommend
her : and the duke of T^nrgnndy d^rlinpH thf- mafrh^
and would not take her to wife upon such condi-
tions ; bul the king of France^ understanding what
tEe nature ^ the fault had been whichhad lost her
the love oFfier father, that it was only a tardiness of

speech, and the not being able to framp hpr

to flattery like her sisters^ took this young maid by

^he hand, and saying that her virtues were a dowry

^ove a kingdom, bade Cordelia to take tarew^lEof

Eer sisters and of her father, though he had been
unkind, and she should go witli him, and be queen^oF
turn and or fair h'ranrPj over fairer posse?^-

sions than her sisters - ^nd he called the duke of
Burgundy in contempt a waterish duke, because his
ioFe for l^s vounE maid had in a moment run all

"" ^ay like w

later.

King Lear 13 1

Then Cordelia with weeping eyes took leave of
her sisters, and besought them to love their fafher
well, and make good their professions : and they
sullenly told her not to prescribe to them, for they
knew their duty ; but to strive to content her hus-
band, who had taken her (as they tauntingly expressed
it) as Fortune’s alms. And Cordelia with a heavy
heart departed, for she knew the cunning of her
sisters, and she wished her father in better hands than
she was about to leave him in.

■y Cordelia was no sooner gone, than the devilish dis-
positions of her sisters began to show themselves in
their true colours. Even before the expiration of the
first month, which Lear was to spend by agreement
with his eldest daughter Goneril, the old king began
to find out the difference between promises and per-
formances. This wretch having got from her father
all that he had to bestow, even to the giving away of
the crown from off his head, began to grudge even
those small remnants of royalty which the old man
had reserved to himself, to please his fancy with the
idea of being still a king. She could not bear to see
him an cLhis hundred knigKS! Every time she met
EerfSher, she put on a frowning countenance ; and
when the old man wanted to speak with her, she
would feign sickness, or anything to get rid of the
sight of him ; for it was plain that she esteemed his
old age a useless burden, and his attendants an un-
necessary expense : not only she herself slackened in
her expressions of duty to the king, but by her
example, and (it is to be feared) not without her
private instructions, her very servants affected to
treat him with neglect, and would either refuse to
obey his orders, or still more contemptuously pretend
not to hear them. Lear could not but perceive this
alteration in the behaviour of his daughter, but he
shut his eyes against it as long as he could, as people

132 Tales from Shakspeare

commonly are unwilling to believe the unpleasant
consequences which their own mistakes and obstinacy
have brought upon them.^

True love and fidelity are no more to be estranged
by ///, than falsehood and hollow-heartedness can be
conciliated by good^ usage. This eminently appears
in the instance of the good earl of Kent, who, though
banished by Lear, and his life made forfeit if he were
found in Britain, chose to stay and abide all con-
sequences, as long as there was a chance of his being
useful to the king his master. See to what mean
shifts and disguises poor loyalty is forced to submit
sometimes ; yet it counts nothing base or unworthy,
so as it can but do service where it owes an obliga-
tion ! J[n the disguise of a serving man. all his grQ2it~
ness ano^omp laid aside, this good earl prottered his
"^rvi^s to the king, who, not knowing him to be.
^ent in that disguise, but pleased with a certain
^ainness^r rather bluntness in his answers, whi ch
THeTarlput on (so different from that smooth oily
Battery which he had so much reason to be sick of,
having found the effects not answerable in his
Tau^fer^)7^a bargain was quickly struck, and Lear
took Kent mto~his service by tlie name ofCaius^ as

he called himself, never suspecting hinTtobe his once

great favourite, the high and mighty earl of Kent.

This (Jaius quickly round means to show his
fidelity and love to his royal master : for Goneril’s
steward that same day behaving in a disrespectful
manner to Lear, and giving him saucy looks and
language, as no doubt he was secretly encouraged to
do by his mistress, Caius, not enduring to hear so open
an affront put upon his majesty, made no more ado
but presently tripped up his heels, and laid the un-
mannerly slave in the kennel ; for which friendly
service Lear became more and more attached to him.

Nor was Kent the only friend Lear had. In his

King Lear

133

degree, and as far as so insignificant a personage could
show his love, the poor fool, or j^esj^er, that had been
of his palace while Lear had a palace, as it was the
custom of kings and great personages at that time to
keep a fool (as he was called) to make them sport
aft£ii_serious^ bu^itTcss^ -thi&^ poor fool clung to Lear _
after 1^ had given away his crown, and by hiswitty
sayin^sTwbuld k^ep TupIhLiS'goMTurnouT^J^
couW not i:£fi:ain-^ametiin£sjrpm jeering at his master
for his imprudence in uncrowning himself, and giving
all away to his daughters ; at which time, as he

daughters

For sudden joy did weep
And he for sorrow sung,

That such a king should play bo-peep
And go the fools among.

And in such wild sayings, and scraps of songs, of
which he had plenty, this pleasant honest fool poured
out his heart even in the presence of Goneril herself,
in many a bitter taunt and jest which cut to the
quick : such as comparing the king to the hedge-
sparrow, who feeds the young of the cuckoo till they
grow old enough, and then has its head bit off for its
pains ; and saying, that an ass may know when the
cart draws the horse (meaning that Lear’s daughters,
that ought to go behind, now ranked before their
father) ; and that Lear was no longer Lear, but the
shadow of Lear : for which free speeches he was once
or twice threatened to be whipped.

The coolness and fnllin^ ^ff ^f respect which Tiepr
ha3*T)e^un to perceive, were not a.11 which this foolish

^;iTtr-rrtTw^^Hinly him xh^t his staying in her
palace was inconvenient so long as he insisted upon

Tceeping; up an establishment of a hundred knights ;

"fliat this establishment was useless and expensive, and

only served to fill her court with riot and feasting ;

134 Tales from Shakspeare

and she prayed him that he would lessen their number^
and keep none but old men about himTsuch as him-
sdrf7~ah JlTt1EIng; his ageT”

Lear at first could not believe his eyes or ears, nor
that it was his daughter who spoke so unkindly.
could not believe that she who had ryeiyed a crnwn
jfrom him could seek to cut off his train, and grudge
him the"respect due to his old age. But she, persist-
irig In her undutiful demand^ the old man’s rage waj_
so excited, that he called her a detested kite, and s^d
~fliaFsTie~s^Tce^ untruth ^ and~soli^^she~3id, for
the hundred knights were nien nf choice behaviour
and sobriety of manners, skilled in all particulars of
diify^ and jinf given to rioting or feasting, as she said.
And he bid his horses to be prepared, for he would go
to his other daughter, Regan, he and his hundred
knights; and he spoke of ingratitude, and said it was
a marble-hearted devil, and showed more hideous in a
child than the sea-monster. And he cursed his eldest
daughter Goneril so as was terrible to hear ; praying
that she might never have a child, or if she had, that
it might live to return that scorn and contempt upon
her which she had shown to him : that she might
feel how sharper than a serpent’s tooth it was to have
a thankless child. And Goneril’s husband, the duke

which Lear might suppose he had in the unkindness,
Lear would not hear him ouL but in a rage ordered
his horses to be saddled, and set out with his followers
for the abode of his other daughter. And

Lear thought to himself how small the fault of Cordelia
(if it was a fault) now appeared, in comparison with
her sister’s, and he wept ; and then he was ashamed
that such a creature as Goneril should have so much
power over his manhood as to make him weep.

Regan and her husband were keeping their court
in great pomp and state at their palace ; and Lear_

King Lear 135

despatched his servant Caius with letters to his
jiaughter, th^she might be prepared for his reception,
^ivhile he ^d hiT train followed after. But Tt seems
that Goneril hadTbeOT^ beforehand wiFh him, sending
letters also to Regan, accusing her father of wayward-
ness and ill humours, and advising her not to receive
so great a train as he was bringing with him. This
messenger arrived at the same time with Caius, and
Caius and he met : and who should it be but Caius’s
old enemy the steward, whom he had formerly tripped
up by the heels for his saucy behaviour to Lear.
Caius not liking the fellow’s look, and suspecting
what he came for, began to revile him, and challenged
him to fight, which the fellow refusing, Caius, in a fit
of honest passion, beat him soundly, as such a mischief-
maker and carrier of wicked messages deserved ; which
coming to the ears of Regan and her husband, they
ordered Caius to be put in the stocks, though he was
a messenger from the king her father, and in that
character demanded the highest respect : so that the
first thing the king saw when he entered the castle,,
was his faithful servant Caius sitting in that disgraceful
situation.

This was but a bad omen of the reception which
he wasl^ expect ; but a worse follcywedTlA^iT, upon
inquiry for his daughter and Ter husband, he was told
th^ were weary with travelling all night, and could
not see him ; and when lastly, upon his insisting in a
positive and angry manner to see them, they came to
greet him, whom should he see in their company but
the hated Goneril, who had come to tell her own
story, and set her sister against the king her father !

This sight much moved the old man, and still more
to see Regan take her by the hand ; and he asked
Goneril if she was not ashamed to look upon his old
white beard. And Regan advised him to go home
again with Goneril, and live with her peaceably, dis--

136 Tales from Shakspeare

missing half of his attendants, and to ask her forgive-
ness ; for he was old and wanted discretion, and must
be ruled and led by persons that had more discretion
than himself. And Lear showed how preposterous
that would sound, if he were to* go down on his
knees, and beg of his own daughter for food and
raiment, and he argued against such an unnatural
dependence, declaring his resolution never to return
with her, but to stay where he was with,^£gaD, he
and his hundred knights ; for he said that she had hot .
forgot the half of the kingdom which he had endowed
her with, and that her eyes were not fierce like_
Goneril’s, but mild^nd kind. Srid he said that
rather than return foGoneril, with half his train cut
off, he would go over to France, and beg a wetched
pension of the king there, who had married his
youngest daughter without a portion.

But he was mistaken in expecting kinder treatment
of-Reg an than fe had experienced fioiir lrer — -
^ Grbnerin As if willing to outdo her sister in un-
tilial behaviour, she declared tnal i^lie llioirght" fifty*^

knights too maivy to^ait_upon him : that hve-ana-^

twenty were cnougtu Th^ Lear^ nigh Jieari-brokehV~~
jturned.to Goneril anef said that he Would 'go -back

with her fifty dniihl^H^i^p-nnd-fwpjri^^ and

sojilgr^love was twice as^^uch as Regan’s. But

Gonenl excused herself> anT^id, jyhafn^^d-^1 qo'
^jnany as five-and-twenty ? or even ten ? or five ?

whenlic might he waited upon by her servants, or

^r sister^s servants So these two wicked daughters,

as if they strove to exceed each other in cruelty to
their old father, who had been so good to them, by.
little and little would have abated him of all his train,
all respect (little enough for him that once com-
manded a kingdom), which was left him to show
that he had once been a king ! Not that a splendid
train is essential to happiness, but from a king to a

King Lear 137

beggar is a hard change, from commanding millions
to be without one attendant ; and it was the ingratitude
in his daughters’ denying it, more than what he would
suffer by the want of it, which pierced this poor king
to the heart ; insomuch, that with this double ill-
usage, and vexation for having so foolishly given away
a kingdom, his wits began to be unsettled, and while
he said he knew not what, he vowed revenge against
those unnatural hags, and to make examples of them
that should be a terror to the earthj.

While he was thus idly threatening what his weak
arm could never execute, night came on, and a loud
storm of thunder and lightning with rain ; and his
daughters still persisting in their resolution not to
admit his followers, he called for his horses, and chose
rather to encounter the utmost fury of the storm
abroad, than stay under the same roof with these
ungrateful daughters : and they^ saying that the injuries
which wilful men procure to themselves are their
)USt puni^hmenfj suffered him to gn in_ condition
and shut their do^^^Q npnn h\na^^

The winds were high, and the rain and storm
increased, when the old man sallied forth to combat
with the elements, less sharp than his daughters’ un-
kindness. For many miles about there was scarce a
bush ; and there upon a heath, exposed to the fury of
the storm in a dark night, did king Lear wander ^
out, and defy the winds and the thunder; and he hid
the winds to blow the earth into tfie sea^ or
waves of thp-spa till they drowned the earthy that nn

^ken might remain of any such ungrateful animal as

Tnan. The old king was now left with oTheiT"

companion than the poor fool, who still abided with
him, with his merry conceits striving to outjest mis-
fortune, saying it was but a naughty night to swim
in, and truly the king had better go in and ask his
daughter’s blessing : —

138 Tales from Shakspeare

But he that has a little tiny wit,

With heigh ho, the wind and the rain I
Must make content with his fortunes fit.

Though the rain it raineth every day :

and swearing it was a brave night to cool a lady’s
pride.

Thus poorly accompanied, this once great monarch

j^vas found by his ever-faithful servant the good earl of

Kent, now transformed to Caius, who ever followed
close at his side, though the kih^did not Tchow^ hinT
t^e the earLi^nTE^^aid, Alas 1 sir, are youliere?^
creatures that love night, love not such nights as~
.these. This dr^ful storm has driven the beasts to"^
their hld'ing places^ Man’s nature cannot enHnrp
affliction or theTearT’ Snd Lear rel)uked him and
said7 these Te^f e\^s were not felt, where a greater
malady was fixed. When the mind is at ease, the
body has leisure to be delicate, but the tempest in his
mind did take all feeling else from his senses, but of
that which beat at his heart. And he spoke of filial
ingratitude, and said it was all one as if the mouth
should tear the hand for lifting food to it 5 for parents
were hands and food and everything to children.

_But the good Caius still persisting in his entry^iriVg
.thaTThB" king would not stay out in the open air, at
4^t persuaded him to enter a little wretched hovel
whlHi SluuJ upon the healli, wlK^te rhe fool first~~
.^ntering, suddenly ran back terrified, saying that he
Jiad seen a spirit. But uporT^amination this spinf’^
proved to be nothing more than a poor Bedlam
beggar, who had crept into this deserted hovel for
shelter, and with his talk about devils frighted the
fool, one of those poor lunatics who are either mad,
or feign to be so, the better to extort charity from
the compassionate country people, who go about the
country, calling themselves poor Tom and poor
Turlygood, saying, ‘‘Who gives anything to poor

There upon a heath, exposed to the fury of the storm on a
dark night, did King Lear wander out.

L

139

King Lear

Tom sticking pins and nails and sprigs of rosemary
into their arms to make them bleed ; and with such
horrible actions, partly by prayers, and partly with
lunatic curses, they move or terrify the ignorant
country-folks into giving them alms. This poor
fellow was such a one ; and the king seeing him in
so wretched a plight, with nothing but a blanket
about his loins to cover his nakedness, could not be
persuaded but that the fellow was some father who
had given all away to his daughters, and brought
himself to that pass : for nothing he thought could
bring a man to such wretchedness but the having
unkind daughters.

And from this and many such wild speeches which
he uttered, the good Caius plainly perceived that he
was not in his perfect mind, but that his daughters’
ill usage had really made him go mad. And now
the loyalty of this worthy earl of Kent showed itself
in more essential services than he had hitherto found
opportunity to perform. For with the assistance ^
some of the king’s attendants who remained loyal, he
had the person of his royal master removed at daj^
break to the castle of Dover, where his own triends"

andmtiuence. as earl of KenU chiefly lav ; and hirn-

^It embarking for France, hastened to the court of

TTordelia^ and did there in such moving terms repre-

sent the pititul condition of her royal father, and set
^ut in such lively colours the inhumanity of her

sisters^ that this p-ood and loving child with many
jears besought the king her husband that he would.

give her leave to embark tor England^ with a sufficient

power to subdue these cruel daughters and their

Husbands^ and restore the old king her father to his

th|-nnp « whirh — being -grantedy-she set forth, and

with a royal army landed at Dover.

Lear having by some cnance escaped from the
guardians which the good earl of Kent had put over

140 Tales from Shakspeare

him to take care of him in his lunacy, was found by
some of Cordelia’s train, wandering about the fields
near Dover, in a pitiable condition, stark mad, and
singing aloud to himself, with a crown upon his head
which he had made of straw, and nettles, and other
wild weeds that he had picked up in the corn-fields.
By the advice of the physicians, Cordelia, though
earnestly desirous of seeing her father, was prevailed
upon to put off the meeting, till by sleep and the
operation of herbs which they gave him, he should
be restored to greater composure; — aid of
these skilful physicians^ to whom ^ordVlja pr^is^
all her gold and jewels for the recovery of the old
Inng, Lear was soon in a condition to see his daugfiT^r.

A Tender sight it was to see the meeting between
this father and daughter ; to see the struggles be-
tween the joy of this poor old king at beholding
again his once darling child, and the shame at receiv-
ing such filial kindness from her whom he had cast
off for so small a fault in his displeasure ; both these
passions struggling with the remains of his malady,
which in his half-crazed brain sometimes made him
that he scarce remembered where he was, or who it
was that so kindly kissed him and spoke to him :
and then he would beg the standers-by not to laugh
at him, if he were mistaken in thinking this** lady to
be his daughter Cordelia ! And then to see him fall
on his knees to beg pardon of his child ; and she,
good lady, kneeling all the while to ask a blessing of
him, and telling him that it did not become him to
kneel, but it was her duty, for she was his child, his
true and very child Cordelia ! and she kissed him (as
she said) to kiss away all her sisters’ unkindness, and
said that they might be ashamed of themselves, to
turn their old kind father with his white beard out
into the cold air, when her enemy’s dog, though it
had bit her (as «he orettily expressed it), should have

King Lear

141

stayed by her fire such a'^fght as that, and warmed
himself. And she told her father how she had come
from France with purpose to bring him assistance ;
and he said that she must forget and forgive, for he
was old and foolish, and did not know what he did ;
but that to be sure she had great cause not to love
him, but her sisters had none. And Cordelia said
that she had no cause, no more than they had.

So we will leave this old king in the protection of
his dutiful and loving child, where, by the help of
sleep and medicine,. she and her physicians at length
succeeded in winding up the untuned and jarring
senses which the cruelty of his other daughters had
so violently shaken. Let us return to say a word or
two about those cruel daughters.

These monsters of ingratitude, who had been so
false to their old father, could not be expected to
prove more faithful to their own husbands. They
soon grew tired of paying even the appearance of
duty and affection, and in an open way showed they
had fixed their loves upon another. It happened
that the object of their gu^iry

fTwas Edmund, a natur^ son of the late earl of
Gloucester, who by his treacheries had succeeded in

disinheriliiig Ills' brorhef Edgar, the lawful heirVfrojn

his earldom, and by his wicked practices wa<; now
earl himselt ; a wicJced m^,^nd a fit obiect for the
love of such wickedTreati^s as Goneril aqd
Tr fallm-g out ab6TirT:WTimrthat the duke of Corn-
Regan^s husband^ died. Regan immediately,
declared her intention of wedding thi^. _pai:l — of
GlouLCSt.xrrrwlTTch rousing the jealousy of her sister.
to whom as well as to Regan this wicked earl had at
sundry times professed love, Goneril found means to
make_jLway. - with her -^terllbyllpoison but being

detected in her
Hushand, the"

practices.

142 Tales from Shakspeare

her p;uilty passion for the earl which had come to his

''ears, she, in a fit of disappointed love and rage^

shortly put an end to her own life. Thus the
justice of hleaven at last overtook these wicked
daughters.

While the eyes of all men were upon this event,
admiring the justicp displayed in their deserved deaths,
the same eyes were suddenly taken off from this sight
to admire at the mysterious ways of the same power
in the melancholy fate of the young and virtuous
daughter, the lady Cordelia, whose good deeds did
seem to deserve a more fortunate conclusion : but it
is an awful truth, that innocence and piety are not
always successful in this world. The forces which
Goneril and Regan had sent out under the command
ot the bad earl of Gloucester were victorious, and
CordeTia!^~by the^_-pract.ice&-C)f-J±LLs wicked earl^ wfio
(fid not like that any should stand between him and
the throne^ ended her life in prison. 1 hu?. Heaven
took this innocent lady to itself m her young years,
after showing her to the world an illustrious example
of filial duty. Lear did not long survive this kind
child.

Before he died, the good earl of Kent, who had
stiir attended his old master^s steps from th^ first of

Tlis daughters" ill usage tn thk perinH nf hU Hpray^

"jried to make him understand that it was he who
haT"followed him under the name of
Lear’s ^are-crazed brain at that time could not com-

couITbe the same person : so Kent thought it need-

less to trouble him with explanations at such a time ;
and Lear soorLaiter expiring^ this faithful servant to

hpfweeji anH girlaf . fnr, hi> nM

j^xations, soon followed him to the grave.

How the judgment of Heaven overtook the bad
eaft of Gloucester, whose treasons were discovered.

King Lear 143

and himself slain in ^inglp rnmhaf with —

the lawful earl ; and how Gonerirs husband^ the
dulce"^ Albany, was innocent of the death-of
Cordelia^ and had never encouraged his lady in her
wicked proceedings against her father, ascended the

throne of Britain after the death of Lear^ is needless

here to n^rr^it^ Lear and his Three Daughters
being dead, whose adventures alone concern our story.

MACBETH

HEN Duncan the Meek reigned king of

vv Scotland, there lived a great thane, or lord,
called Macbeth. This Macbeth was a near kinsman
to the king, and in great esteem at court for his
valour and conduct in the wars ; an example of which
he had lately given, in defeating a rebel army assisted
by the troops of Norway in terrible numbers.

The two Scottish generals, Macbeth and Banquo,
returning victorious from this great battle, their way
lay over a blasted heath, where they were stopped by
the strange appearance of three figures like women,
except that they had beards, and their withered skins
and wild attire made them look not like any earthly
creatures. Macbeth first addressed them, when they,
seemingly oiFended, laid each one her choppy finger
upon her skinny lips, in token of silence ; and the
first of them saluted Macbeth with the title of thane
of Glamis. The general was not a little startled to
find himself known by such creatures ; but how
much more, when the second of them' followed up
that salute by giving him the title of thane of
Cawdor, to which honour he had no pretensions ;
and again the third bid him All hail ! king that
shalt be hereafter ! ” Such a prophetic greeting
might well amaze him, who knew that while the
king’s sons lived he could not hope to succeed to the
throne. Then turning to Banquo, they pronounced
him, in a sort of riddling terms, to be lesser than
M acbeth and greater ! not so happy ^ hut much happier !
and prophesied that though he should never reign,
yet his sons after him should be kings in Scotland.

144

They were stopped by the strange appearance of three figures.

Macbeth

145

They then turned into air, and vanished ; by which
the generals knew them to be the weird sisters, or
witches.

While they stood pondering on the strangeness of
this adventure, there arrived certain messengers from
the king, who were empowered by him to confer
upon Macbeth the dignity of thane of Cawdor ; an
event so miraculously corresponding with the predic-
tion of the witches astonished Macbeth, and he stood
wrapped in amazement, unable to make reply to the
messengers ; and in that point of time swelling hopes
arose in his mind that the prediction of the third
witch might in like manner have its accomplishment,
and that he should one day reign king in Scotland.

Turning to Banquo, he said, Do you not hope
that your children shall be kings, when what the
witches promised to me has so wonderfully come to
pass ? ” “ That hope,” answered the general, might

enkindle you to aim at the throne ; but oftentimes
these ministers of darkness tell us truths in little things,
to betray us into deeds of greatest consequence.”

But the wicked suggestions of the witches had
sunk too deep into the mind of Macbeth to allow
him to attend to the warnings of the good Banquo.
From that time he bent all his thoughts how to
compass the throne of Scotland.

Macbeth had a wife, to whom he communicated I
the strange prediction of the weird sisters, and its/
partial accomplishment. She was a bad, ambitious/
woman, and so as her husband and herself could
arrive at greatness, she cared not much by what
means. She spurred on the reluctant purpose of
Macbeth, who felt compunction at the thoughts of
blood, and did not cease to represent the murder of
the king as a step absolutely necessary to the fulfil-
ment of the flattering prophecy.

It happened at this time that the king, who out of

I

146 Tales from Shakspeare

his royal condescension would oftentimes visit his
principal nobility upon gracious terms, came to Mac-
beth’s house, attended by his two sons, Malcolm and
Donalbain, and a numerous train of thanes and
attendants, the more to honour Macbeth for the
triumphal success of his wars.

\ The castle of Macbeth was pleasantly situated, and
air about it was sweet and wholesome, which
appeared by the nests which the martlet, or swallow,
had built under all the jutting friezes and buttresses
of the building, wherever it found a place of advan-
tage ; for where those birds most breed and haunt,
the air is observed to be delicate. The king entered
well-pleased with the place, and not less so with the
attentions and respect of his honoured hostess, lady
I Macbeth, who had the art of covering treacherous
purposes with smiles ; and could look like the inno-
cent flower, while she was indeed the serpent under it.

The king being tired with his journey, went early
to bed, and in his state-room two grooms of his
chamber (as was the custom) slept beside him. He
had been unusually pleased with his reception, and
had made presents before he retired to his principal
officers ; and among the rest, had sent a rich diamond
to lady Macbeth, greeting her by the name of his
most kind hostess.

Now was the middle of night, when over half the
world nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
men’s minds asleep, and none but the wolf and the
murderer is abroad. This was the time when lady
Macbeth waked to plot the murder of the king. She
would not have undertaken a deed so abhorrent to
her sex, but that she feared her husband’s nature, that
it was too full of the milk of human kindness, to do a
contrived murder. She knew him to be ambitious,
but withal to be scrupulous, and not yet prepared for
that height of crime which commonly in the end

Macbeth

147

accompanies inordinate ambition. She had won him
to consent to the murder, but she doubted his resolu-
tion ; and she feared that the natural tenderness of
his disposition (more humane than her own) would
come between, and defeat the purpose. So with her
own hands armed with a dagger, she approached the
king’s bed ; having taken care to ply the grooms of
his chamber so with wine, that they slept intoxicated,
and careless of their charge. There lay Duncan in a
sound sleep after the fatigues of his journey, and as
she viewed him earnestly, there was something in his
face, as he slept, which resembled her own father ;
and she had not the courage to proceed.

She returned to confer with her husband. His
resolution had begun to stagger. He considered that
there were strong reasons against the deed. In the
first place, he was not only a subject, but a near
kinsman to the king ; and he had been his host and
entertainer that day, whose duty, by the laws of hos-
pitality, it was to shut the door against his murderers,
not bear the knife himself. Then he considered how
just and merciful a king this Duncan had been, how
clear of offence to his subjects, how loving to his
nobility, and in particular to him ; that such kings are
the peculiar care of Heaven, and their subjects doubly
bound to revenge their deaths. Besides, by the
favours of the king, Macbeth stood high in the opinion
of all sorts of men, and how would those honours be
stained by the reputation of so foul a murder !

In these conflicts of the mind lady Macbeth found
her husband inclining to the better part, and resolving
to proceed no further. But she being a woman not
easily shaken from her evil purpose, began to pour in
at his cars words which infused a portion of her own
spirit into his mind, assigning reason upon reason why
he should not shrink from what he had undertaken ;
how easy the deed was ; how soon it would be over j

148 Tales from Shakspeare

and how the action of one short night would give to
all their nights and days to come sovereign sway and
royalty ! Then she threw contempt on his change
of purpose, and accused him of fickleness and
cowardice ; and declared that she had given suck,
and knew how tender it was to love the babe that
milked her ; but she would, while it was smiling in
her face, have plucked it from her breast, and dashed
its brains out, if she had so sworn to do it, as he had
sworn to perform that murder. Then she added,
how practicable it was to lay the guilt of the deed
upon the drunken sleepy grooms. And with the
valour of her tongue she so chastised his sluggish
resolutions, that he once more summoned up courage
to the bloody business.

So, taking the dagger in his hand, he softly stole in
the dark to the room where Duncan lay ; and as he
went, he thought he saw another dagger in the air,
with the handle towards him, and on the blade and at
the point of it drops of blood ; but when he tried to
grasp at it, it was nothing but air, a mere phantasm
proceeding from his own hot and oppressed brain and
the business he had in hand.

Getting rid of this fear, he entered the king’s room,
whom he despatched with one stroke of his dagger.
Just as he had done the murder, one of the grooms,
who slept in the chamber, laughed in his sleep, and
the other cried, “ Murder,” which woke them both ;
but they said a short prayer ; one of them said, God
bless us ! ” and the other answered Amen ; ” and
addressed themselves to sleep again. Macbeth, who
stood listening to them, tried to say, Amen,” when
the fellow said, ‘‘ God bless us ! ” but, though he had
most need of a blessing, the word stuck in his throat,
and he could not pronounce it.

Again he thought he heard a voice which cried.

Sleep no more : Macbeth doth murder sleep, the

Macbeth

149

innocent sleep, that nourishes life/’ Still it cried,

Sleep no more,” to all the house. Glamis hath
murdered sleep, and therefore Cawdor shall sleep no
more, Macbeth shall sleep no more.”

With such horrible imaginations Macbeth returned
to his listening wife, who began to think he had failed
of his purpose, and that the deed was somehow frus-
trated. He came in so distracted a state, that she
reproached him with his want of firmness, and sent
him to wash his hands of the blood which stained
them, while she took his dagger, with purpose to
stain the cheeks of the grooms with blood, to make it
seem their guilt.

Morning came, and with it the discovery of the
murder, which could not be concealed ; and though
Macbeth and his lady made great show of grief, and
the proofs against the grooms (the dagger being pro-
duced against them and their faces smeared with
blood) were sufficiently strong, yet the entire sus-
picion fell upon Macbeth, whose inducements to such
a deed were so much more forcible than such poor
silly grooms could be supposed to have ; and Duncan’s
two sons fled. Malcolm, the eldest, sought for refuge
in the English court ; and the youngest, Donalbain,
made his escape to Ireland.

The king’s sons, who should have succeeded him,
having thus vacated the throne, Macbeth as next heir
was crowned king, and thus the prediction of the
weird sisters was literally accomplished.

Though placed so high, Macbeth and his queen
could not forget the prophecy of the weird sisters,
that, though Macbeth should be king, yet not his
children, but the children of Banquo, should be kings
after him. The thought of this, and that they had
defiled their hands with blood, and done so great
crimes, only to place the posterity of Banquo upon
the throne, so rankled within them, that they deter-

150 Tales from Shakspeare

mined to put to death both Banquo and his son, to
make void the predictions of the weird sisters, which
in their own case had been so remarkably brought to
pass.

For this purpose they made a great supper, to
which they invited all the chief thanes ; and, among
the rest, with marks of particular respect, Banquo
and his son Fleance were invited. The way by
which Banquo was to pass to the palace at night was
beset by murderers appointed by Macbeth, who
stabbed Banquo ; but in the scuffle Fleance escaped.
From that Fleance descended a race of monarchs
who afterwards filled the Scottish throne, ending
with James the Sixth of Scotland and the First of
England, under whom the two crowns of England
and Scotland were united.

At supper, the queen, whose manners were in the
highest degree affable and royal, played the hostess
with a gracefulness and attention which conciliated
every one present, and Macbeth discoursed freely
with his thanes and nobles, saying, that all that was
honourable in the country was under his roof, if he
had but his good friend Banquo present, whom yet
he hoped he should rather have to chide for neglect,
than to lament for any mischance. Just at these
words the ghost of Banquo, whom he had caused to
be murdered, entered the room and placed himself
on the chair which Macbeth was about to occupy.
Though Macbeth was a bold man, and one that
could have faced the devil without trembling, at this
horrible sight his cheeks turned white with fear, and
he stood quite unmanned with his eyes fixed upon
the ghost. His queen and all the nobles, who saw
nothing, but perceived him gazing (as they thought)
upon an empty chair, took it for a fit of distraction ;
and she reproached him, whispering that it was but
the same fancy which made him see the dagger in

Macbeth

151

the air, when he was about to kill Duncan. But
Macbeth continued to see the ghost, and gave no
heed to all they could say, while he addressed it with
distracted words, yet so significant, that his queen,
fearing the dreadful secret would be disclosed, in great
haste dismissed the guests, excusing the infirmity of
Macbeth as a disorder he was often troubled with.

To such dreadful fancies Macbeth was subject.
His queen and he had their sleeps afflicted with
terrible dreams, and the blood of Banquo troubled
them not more than the escape of Fleance, whom
now they looked upon as father to a line of kings
who should keep their posterity out of the throne.
With these miserable thoughts they found no peace,
and Macbeth determined once more to seek out the
weird sisters, and know from them the worst.

He sought them in a cave upon the heath, where
they, who knew by foresight of his coming, were
engaged in preparing their dreadful charms, by which
they conjured up infernal spirits to reveal to them
futurity. Their horrid ingredients were toads, bats,
and serpents, the eye of a newt, and the tongue of a
dog, the leg of a lizard, and the wing of the night-
owl, the scale of a dragon, the tooth of a wolf, the
maw of the ravenous salt-sea shark, the mummy of a
witch, the root of the poisonous hemlock (this to
have effect must be digged in the dark), the gall of a
goat, and the liver of a Jew, with slips of the yew
tree that roots itself in graves, and the finger of a
dead child ; all these were set on to boil in a great
kettle, or cauldron, which, as fast as it grew too hot,
was cooled with a baboon’s blood : to these they
poured in the blood of a sow that had eaten her
young, and they threw into the flame the grease that
had sweaten from a murderer’s gibbet. By these
charms they bound the infernal spirits to answer their
questions.

M

152 Tales from Shakspeare

It was demanded of Macbeth, whether he would
have his doubts resolved by them, or by their
masters, the spirits. He, nothing daunted by the
dreadful ceremonies which he saw, boldly answered,
“ Where are they ? let me see them.” And they
called the spirits, which were three. And the first
arose in the likeness of an armed head, and he called
Macbeth by name, and bid him beware of the thane
of Fife ; for which caution Macbeth thanked him ;
for Macbeth had entertained a jealousy of Macduff,
the thane of Fife.

And the second spirit arose in the likeness of a
bloody child, and he called Macbeth by name, and
bid him have no fear, but laugh to scorn the power
of man, for none of woman born should have power
to hurt him ; and he advised him to be bloody, bold,
and resolute. ‘‘Then live, Macduff!” cried the
king y “ what need I fear of thee ? but yet I will
make assurance doubly sure. Thou shalt not live ;
that I may tell pale-hearted Fear it lies, and sleep in
spite of thunder.”

That spirit being dismissed, a third arose in the
form of a child crowned, with a tree in his hand.
He called Macbeth by name, and comforted him
against conspiracies, saying, that he should never be
vanquished, until the wood of Birnam to Dunsinane
Hill should come against him. “ Sweet bodements 1
good ! ” cried Macbeth ; “ who can unfix the forest,
and move it from its earth-bound roots ? I see I
shall live the usual period of man’s life, and not be
cut off by a violent death. But my heart throbs to
know one thing. Tell me, if your art can tell so
much, if Banquo’s issue shall ever reign in this king-
dom ? ” Here the cauldron sank into the ground,
and a noise of music was heard, and eight shadows,
like kings, passed by Macbeth, and Banquo last, who
bore a glass which showed the figures of many more.

Macbeth

153

and Banquo all bloody smiled upon Macbeth, and
pointed to them ; by which Macbeth knew that
these were the posterity of Banquo, who should
reign after him in Scotland ; and the witches, with a
sound of soft music, and with dancing, making a
show of duty and welcome to Macbeth, vanished.
And from this time the thoughts of Macbeth were
all bloody and dreadful.

The first thing he heard when he got out of tfie
witches’ cave, was that Macduff*, thane of Fife, had
fled to England, to join the army which was forming
against him under Malcolm, the eldest son of the late
king, with intent to displace Macbeth, and set Mal-
colm, the right heir, upon the throne. Macbeth,
stung with rage, set upon the castle of Macduff, and
put his wife and children, whom the thane had left
behind, to the sword, and extended the slaughter to
all who claimed the least relationship to Macduff.

These and such-like deeds alienated the minds ot
all his chief nobility from him. Such as could, fled
to join with Malcolm and Macduff, who were now
approaching with a powerful army, which they hr^’
raised in England ; and the. rest secretly wish^3
success to their arms, though for fear of Macbeth
they could take no active part. His recruits went
on slowly. Everybody hated the tyrant ; nobody
loved or honoured him ; but all suspected him, and
he began to envy the condition of Duncan, whom he
had murdered, who slept soundly in his grave, against
whom treason had done its worst : steel nor poison,
domestic malice nor foreign levies, could hurt him
any longer.

While these things were acting, the queen, who
had been the sole partner in his wickedness, in whose
bosom he could sometimes seek a momentary repose
from those terrible dreams which afflicted them both
nightly, died, it is supposed, by her own hands, unable

154 Tales from Shakspeare

to bear the remorse of guilt, and public hate ; by
which event he was left alone, without a soul to love
or care for him, or a friend to whom he could confide
his wicked purposes.

He grew careless of life, and wished for death ; but
the near approach of Malcolm’s army roused in him
what remained of his ancient courage, and he deter-
mined to die (as he expressed it) ‘‘ with armour on
his back.” Besides this, the hollow promises of the
witches had filled him with a false confidence, and
he remembered the sayings of the spirits, that none of
woman born was to hurt him, and that he was never
to be vanquished till Birnam wood should come to
Dunsinane, which he thought could never be. So he
shut himself up in his castle, whose impregnable
strength was such as defied a siege : here he sullenly
waited the approach of Malcolm. When, upon a
day, there came a messenger to him, pale and shaking
with fear, almost unable to report that which he had
seen ; for he averred, that as he stood upon his watch
on the hill, he looked towards Birnam, and to his
\^.Sinking the wood began to move! “Liar and
^ave 1 ” cried Macbeth ; “ if thou speakest false, thou
shalt hang alive upon the next tree, till famine end
thee. If thy tale be true, I care not if thou dost as
much by me ; ” for Macbeth now began to faint in
resolution, and to doubt the equivocal speeches of the
spirits. He was not to fear till Birnam wood should
come to Dunsinane ; and now a wood did move I
“ However,” said he, “ if this which he avouches be
true, let us arm and out. There is no flying hence,
nor staying here. I begin to be weary of the sun,
and wish my life at an end.” With these desperate
speeches he sallied forth upon the besiegers, who had
now come up to the castle.

The strange appearance which had given the
messenger an idea of a wood moving is easily solved.

Macbeth

155

When the besieging army marched through the wood
of Birnam, Malcolm, like a skilful general, instructed
his soldiers to hew down every one a bough and bear
it before him, by way of concealing the true numbers
of his host. This marching of the soldiers with
boughs had at a distance the appearance which had
frightened the messenger. Thus were the words of
the spirit brought to pass, in a sense different from
that in which Macbeth had understood them, and
one great hold of his confidence was gone.

And now a severe skirmishing took place, in which
Macbeth, though feebly supported by those who
called themselves his friends, but in reality hated the
tyrant and inclined to the party of Malcolm and
Macduff, yet fought with the extreme of rage, and
valour, cutting to pieces all who were opposed to
him, till he came to where Macduff was fighting.
Seeing Macduff, and remembering the caution of the
spirit who had counselled him to avoid Macduff,
above all men, he would have turned, but Macduff,
who had been seeking him through the whole fight,
opposed his turning, and a fierce contest ensued ;
Macduff giving him many foul reproaches for the
murder of his wife and children. Macbeth, whose
soul was charged enough with blood of that family
already, would still have declined the combat ; but
Macduff still urged him to it, calling him tyrant,
murderer, hell-hound, and villain.

Then Macbeth remembered the words of the
spirit, how none of woman born should hurt him ;
and smiling confidently he said to Macduff, Thou
losest thy labour, Macduff. As easily thou mayest
impress the air with thy sword, as make me vulner-
able. I bear a charmed life, which must not yield to
one of woman born.”

‘‘ Despair thy charm,” said Macduff, “ and let that
lying spirit whom thou hast served, tell thee, that

156 Tales from Shakspeare

Macduff was never born of woman, never as the
ordinary manner of men is to be born, but was
untimely taken from his mother.”

‘‘ Accursed be the tongue which tells me so,” said
the trembling Macbeth, who felt his last hold of
confidence give way ; and let never man in future
believe the lying equivocations of witches and juggling
spirits, who deceive us in words which have double
senses, and while they keep their promise literally,
disappoint our hopes with a different meaning. I
will not fight with thee.”

‘‘Then live!” said the scornful Macduff; “we
will have a show of thee, as men show monsters, and
a painted board, on which shall be written, ‘ Here
men may see the tyrant 1 ’ ”

“ Never,” said Macbeth, whose courage returned
with despair; “I will not live to kiss the ground
before young Malcolm’s feet, and to be baited with
the curses of the rabble. Though Birnam wood
be come to Dunsinane, and thou opposed to me,
who wast never born of woman, yet will I try the
last.” With these frantic words he threw himself
upon Macduff, who, after a severe struggle, in the
end overcame him, and cutting off his head, made
a present of it to the young and lawful king,
Malcolm ; who took upon him the government
which, by the machinations of the usurper, he had
so long been deprived of, and ascended the throne
of Duncan the Meek, amid the acclamations of the
nobles and the people.

ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

Bertram, count of Rousillon, had newly come
to his title and estate, by the death of his
father. The king of France loved the father of
Bertram, and when he heard of his death, he sent
for his son to come immediately to his royal court
in Paris, intending, for the friendship he bore the late
count, to grace young Bertram with his especial favour
and protection.

Bertram was living with his mother, the widowed
countess, when Lafeu, an old lord of the French
court, came to conduct him to the king. The
king of France was an absolute monarch, and the
invitation to court was in the form of a royal
mandate, or positive command, which no subject,
of what high dignity soever, might disobey; there-
fore though the countess, in parting with this dear
son, seemed a second time to bury her husband,
whose loss she had so lately mourned, yet she dared
not to keep him a single day, but gave instant
orders for his departure. Lafeu, who came to fetch
him, tried to comfort the countess for the loss of
her late lord, and her son’s sudden absence; and
he said, in a courtier’s flattering manner, that the
king was so kind a prince, she would find in his
majesty a husband, and that he would be a father
to her son ; meaning only, that the good king
would befriend the fortunes of Bertram. Lafeu told
the countess that the king had fallen into a sad
malady, which was pronounced by his physicians to
be incurable. The lady expressed great sorrow on
hearing this account of the king’s ill health, and

157

158 Tales from Shakspeare

said, she wished the father of Helena a young
gentlewoman who was present in attenaance upon
her) were living, for that she doubted not he could
have cured his majesty of his disease. And she told
Lafeu something of the history of Helena, saying
she was the only daughter of the famous physician
Gerard de Narbon, and that he had recommended
his daughter to her care when he was dying, so
that since his death she had taken Helena under her
protection ; then the countess praised the virtuous
disposition and excellent qualities of Helena, saying
she inherited these virtues from her worthy father.
While she was speaking, Helena wept in sad and
mournful silence, which made the countess gently re-
prove her for too much grieving for her father’s death.

Bertram now bade his mother farewell. The
countess parted with this dear son with tears and
many blessings, and commended him to the care of
Lafeu, saying, ‘‘ Good my lord, advise him, for he
is an unseasoned courtier.”

Bertram’s last words were spoken to Helena, but
they were words of mere civility, wishing her happi-
ness ; and he concluded his short farewell to her with
saying, Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress,
and make much of her.”

Helena had long loved Bertram, and when she
wept in sad and mournful silence, the tears she shed
were not for Gerard de Narbon. Helena loved her
father, but in the present feeling of a deeper love,
the object of which she was about to lose, she had
forgotten the very form and features of her dead
father, her imagination presenting no image to her
mind but Bertram’s.

Helena had long loved Bertram, yet she always
remembered that he was the count of Rousillon,
descended from the most ancient family in France.
She of humble birth. Her parents of no note at all.

All’s Well that Ends Well 159

His ancestors all noble. And therefore she looked up
to the high-born Bertram as to her master and to her
dear lord, and dared not form any wish but to live
his servant, and so living to die his vassal. So great
the distance seemed to her between his height of
dignity and her lowly fortunes, that she would say,
It were all one that I should love a bright
particular star, and think to wed it, Bertram is so
far above me.”

Bertram’s absence filled her eyes with tears and her
heart with sorrow ; for though she loved without
hope, yet it was a pretty comfort to her to see him
every hour, and Helena would sit and look upon his
dark eye, his arched brow, and the curls of his fine
hair, till she seemed to draw his portrait on the tablet
of her heart, that heart too capable of retaining the
memory of every line in the features of that loved
face.

Gerard de Narbon, when he died, left her no other
portion than some prescriptions of rare and well-
/^roved virtue, which by deep study and long experi-
ence in medicine he had collected as sovereign and
almost infallible remedies. Among the rest, there
was one set down as an approved medicine for the
disease under which Lafeu said the king at that time
languished : and when Helena heard of the king’s
complaint, she, who till now had been so humble
and so hopeless, formed an ambitious project in her
mind to go herself to Paris, and undertake the cure
of the king. But though Helena was the possessor
of this choice prescription, it was unlikely, as the
king as well as his physicians was of opinion that his
disease was incurable, that they would give credit to
a poor unlearned virgin, if she should offer to perform
a cure. The firm hopes that Helena had of succeed-
ing, if she might be permitted to make the trial,
seemed more than even her father’s skill warranted,

i6o Tales from Shakspeare

though he was the most famous physician of his time ;
for she felt a strong faith that this good medicine was
sanctified by all the luckiest stars in heaven to be the
legacy that should advance her fortune, even to the
high dignity of being count Rousillon’s wife.

Bertram had not been long gone, when the
countess was informed by her steward, that he had
overheard Helena talking to herself, and that he
understood from some words she uttered, she was
in love with Bertram, and thought of following him
to Paris. The countess dismissed the steward with
thanks, and desired him to tell Helena she wished to
speak with her. What she had just heard of Helena
brought the remembrance of days long past into the
mind of the countess ; those days probably when her
love for Bertram’s father first began ; and she said
to herself, ‘‘Even so it was with me when I was
young. Love is a thorn that belongs to the rose
of youth ; for in the season of youth, if ever we are
nature’s children, these faults are ours, though then
we think not they are faults,” While the countess
was thus meditating on the loving errors of her own
youth, Helena entered, and she said to her, “ Helena,
you know I am a mother to you.” Helena replied,
“ You are my honourable mistress.” “You are my
daughter,” said the countess again : “ I say I am your
mother. Why do you start and look pale at my
words ? ” With looks of alarm and confused thoughts,
fearing the countess suspected her love, Helena still
replied, “ Pardon me, madam, you are not my mother;
the count Rousillon cannot be my brother, nor I your
daughter.” “Yet, Helena,” said the countess, “you
might be my daughter-in-law ; and I am afraid that
is what you mean to be, the words mother and daughter
so disturb you. Helena, do you love my son ? ”
“ Good madam, pardon me,” said the affrighted
Helena. Again the countess repeated her question.

All’s Well that Ends Well i6i

Do you love my son ? ” Do not you love him,
madam ? ” said Helena. The countess replied, “ Give
me not this evasive answer, Helena. Come, come,
disclose the state of your affections, for your love has
to the full appeared.” Helena on her knees now
owned her love, and with shame and terror implored
the pardon of her noble mistress ; and with words
expressive of the sense she had of the inequality
between their fortunes, she protested Bertram did
not know she loved him, comparing her humble
unaspiring love to a poor Indian, who adores the sun
that looks upon his worshipper, but knows of him no
, more. The countess asked Helena if she had not
lately an intent to go to Paris ? Helena owned the
design she had formed in her mind, when she heard
Lafeu speak of the king’s illness. “ This was your
motive for wishing to go to Paris,” said the countess,
“ was it ? Speak truly.” Helena honestly answered,
My lord your son made me to think of this ; else
Paris, and the medicine, and the king, had from the
conversation of my thoughts been absent then.” The
countess heard the whole of this confession without
saying a word either of approval or of blame, but she
strictly questioned Helena as to the probability of the
medicine being useful to the king. She found that
it was the most prized by Gerard de Narbon of all
he possessed, and that he had given it to his daughter
on his deathbed ; and remembering the solemn
promise she had made at that awful hour in regard
to this young maid, whose destiny, and the life of
the king himself, seemed to depend on the execution
of a project (which though conceived by the fond
suggestions of a loving maiden’s thoughts, the countess
knew not but it might be the unseen workings of
Providence to bring to pass the recovery of the king,
and to lay the foundation of the future fortunes of
Gerard de Narbon’s daughter), free leave she gave

1 62 Tales from Shakspeare

to Helena to pursue her own way, and generously
furnished her with ample means and suitable attend-
ants ; and Helena set out for Paris with the blessings
of the countess, and her kindest wishes for her success.

Helena arrived at Paris, and by the assistance of her
friend the old lord Lafeu, she obtained an audience
of the king. She had still many difficulties to en-
counter, for the king was not easily prevailed on to
try the medicine offered him by this fair young
doctor. But she told him she was Gerard de Nar-
bon’s daughter (with whose fame the king was well
acquainted), and she offered the precious medicine as
the darling treasure which contained the essence of
all her father’s long experience and skill, and she
boldly engaged to forfeit her life, if it failed to restore
his majesty to perfect health in the space of two days.
The king at length consented to try it, and in two
days’ time Helena was to lose her life if the king did
not recover ; but if she succeeded, he promised to
give her the choice of any man throughout all France
(the princes only excepted) whom she could like for
a husband ; the choice of a husband being the fee
Helena demanded if she cured the king of his disease.

Helena did not deceive herself in the hope she
conceived of the efficacy of her father’s medicine.
Before two days were at an end, the king was restored
to perfect health, and he assembled all the young
noblemen of his court together, in order to confer
the promised reward of a husband upon his fair
physician ; and he desired Helena to look round on
this youthful parcel of noble bachelors, and choose
her husband. Helena was not slow to make her
choice, for among these young lords she saw the count
Rousillon, and turning to Bertram, she said, “ This is
the man. I dare not say, my lord, I take you, but I
give me and my service ever whilst I live into your
guiding power.” “ Why, then,” said the king,

All’s Well that Ends Well 163

‘‘young Bertram, take her; she is your wife/’
Bertram did not hesitate to declare his dislike to this
present of the king’s of the self-offered Helena, who,
he said, was a poor physician’s daughter, bred at his
father’s charge, and now living a dependent on his
mother’s bounty. Helena heard him speak these
words of rejection and of scorn, and she said to the
king, “ That you are well, my lord, I am glad. Let
the rest go.” But the king would not suffer his
royal command to be so slighted ; for the power of
bestowing their nobles in marriage was one of the
many privileges of the kings of France ; and that
same day Bertram was married to Helena, a forced
and uneasy marriage to Bertram, and of no promising
hope to the poor lady, who, though she gained the
noble husband she had hazarded her life to obtain,
seemed to have won but a splendid blank, her
husband’s love not being a gift in the power of the
king of France to bestow.

Helena was no sooner married, than she was de-
sired by Bertram to apply to the king for him for
leave of absence from court ; and when she brought
him the king’s permission for his departure, Bertram
told her that he was not prepared for this sudden
marriage, it had much unsettled him, and therefore*
she must not wonder at the course he should pursue.
If Helena wondered not, she grieved when she found
it was his intention to leave her. He ordered her to
go home to his mother. When Helena heard this
unkind command, she replied, “Sir, I can nothing
say to this, but that I am your most obedient servant,
and shall ever with true observance seek to eke out
that desert, wherein my homely stars have failed to
equal my great fortunes.” But this humble speech
of Helena’s did not at all move the haughty Bertram
to pity his gentle wife, and he parted from her
without even the common civility of a kind farewell.

164 Tales from Shakspeare

Back to the countess then Helena returned. She
had accomplished the purport of her journey, she had
preserved the life of the king, and she had wedded her
heart’s dear lord, the count Rousillon ; but she
returned back a dejected lady to her noble mother-in-
law, and as soon as she entered the house she received
a letter from Bertram which almost broke her heart.

The good countess received her with a cordial
welcome, as if she had been her son’s own choice,
and a lady of a high degree, and she spoke kind words
to comfort her for the unkind neglect of Bertram in
sending his wife home on her bridal day alone. But
this gracious reception failed to cheer the sad mind
of Helena, and she said, ‘‘ Madam, my lord is gone,
for ever gone.” She then read these words out of
Bertram’s letter : When you can get the ring from my
fnger^ which never shall come off^ then call me husbanf
but in such a Then I write a Never. This is a
dreadful sentence ! ” said Helena. The countess
begged her to have patience, and said, now Bertram
was gone, she should be her child, and that she
deserved a lord that twenty such rude boys as Bertram
might tend upon, and hourly call her mistress. ' But
in vain by respectful condescension and kind flattery
this matchless mother tried to soothe the sorrows of
her daughter-in-law.

Helena still kept her eyes fixed upon the letter,
and cried out in an agony of grief. Till I have no
wife^ I have nothing in France. The countess asked
her if she found those words in the letter? ‘‘Yes,
madam,” was all poor Helena could answer.

The next morning Helena was missing. She left
a letter to be delivered to the countess after she was
gone, to acquaint her with the reason of her sudden
absence : in this letter she informed her that she was
so much grieved at having driven Bertram from his
native country and his home, that to atone for her

All’s Well that Ends Well 165

ofFencCj she had undertaken a pilgrimage to the shrine
of St Jaques le Grand, and concluded with request-
ing the countess to inform her son that the wife he
so hated had left his house for ever,

Bertram, when he left Paris, went to Florence,
and there became an officer in the duke of Florence’s
army, and after a successful war, in which he dis-
tinguished himself by many brave actions, Bertram
received letters from his mother, containing the
acceptable tidings that Helena would no more disturb
him ; and he was preparing to return home, when
Helena herself, clad in her pilgrim’s weeds, arrived at
the city of Florence.

Florence was a city through which the pilgrims
used to pass on their way to St Jaques le Grand ;
and when Helena arrived at this city, she heard that
a hospitable widow dwelt there, who used to receive
into her house the female pilgrims that were going
to visit the shrine of that saint, giving them lodging
and kind entertainment. To this good lady, there-
fore, Helena went, and the widow gave her a
courteous welcome, and invited her to see whatever
was curious in that famous city, and told her that if
she would like to see the duke’s army, she would take
her where she might have a full view of it. “ And
you will see a countryman of yours,” said the widow ;

his name is Count Rousillon, who has done worthy
service in the duke’s wars.” Helena wanted no
second invitation, when she found Bertram was to
make part of the show. She accompanied her
hostess ; and a sad and mournful pleasure it was to
her to look once more upon her dear husband’s face.

Is he not a handsome man ? ” said the widow. “ I
like him well,” replied Helena, wdth great truth.
All the way they walked, the talkative widow’s dis-
course was all of Bertram : she told Helena the story
of Bertram’s marriage, and how he had deserted the

1 66 Tales from Shakspeare

poor lady his wife, and entered into the duke’s army
to avoid living with her. To this account of her
own misfortunes Helena patiently listened, and when
it was ended, the history of Bertram was not yet
done, for then the widow began another tale, every
word of which sank deep into the mind of Helena ;
for the story she now told was of Bertram’s love for
her daughter.

Though Bertram did not like the marriage forced
on him by the king, it seems he was not insensible
to love, for since he had been stationed with the
army at Florence, he had fallen in love with Diana,
a fair young gentlewoman, the daughter of this
widow who was Helena’s hostess ; and every night,
with music of all sorts, and songs composed in praise
of Diana’s beauty, he would come under her window,
and solicit her love ; and all his suit to her was, that
she would permit him to visit her by stealth after the
family were retired to rest ; but Diana would by no
means be persuaded to grant this improper request,
nor give any encouragement to his suit, knowing him
to be a married man ; for Diana had been brought
up under the counsels of a prudent mother, who,
though she was now in reduced circumstances, was
well born, and descended from the noble family of
the Capulets.

All this the good lady related to Helena, highly
praising the virtuous principles of her discreet
daughter, which she said were entirely owing to the
excellent education and good advice she had given
her ; and she further said, that Bertram had been
particularly importunate with Diana to admit him to
the visit he so much desired that night, because he
was going to leave Florence early the next morning.

Though it grieved Helena to hear of Bertram’s
love for the widow’s daughter, yet from this story the
ardent mind of Helena conceived a project (nothine^

All’s Well that Ends Well 167

discouraged at the ill success of her former one) to
recover her truant lord. She disclosed to the widow
that she was Helena, the deserted wife of Bertram,
and requested that her kind hostess and her daughter
would suffer this visit from Bertram to take place, and
allow her to pass herself upon Bertram for Diana ;
telling them, her chief motive for desiring to have
this secret meeting with her husband, was to get a
ring from him, which he had said, if ever she was in
possession ot he would acknowledge her as his wife.

The widow and her daughter promised to assist
her in this affair, partly moved by pity for this un-
happy forsaken wife, and partly won over to her
interest by the promises of reward which Helena
made them, giving them a purse of money in earnest
of her future favour. In the course of that day
Helena caused information to be sent to Bertram
that she was dead ; hoping that when he thought
himself free to make a second choice by the news of
her death, he would offer marriage to her in her
feigned character of Diana. And if she could obtain
the ring and this promise too, she doubted not she
should make some future good come of it.

In the evening, after it was dark, Bertram was
admitted into Diana’s chamber, and Helena was
there ready to receive him. The flattering com-
pliments and love discourse he addressed to Helena
were precious sounds to her, though she knew they
were meant for Diana ; and Bertram was so well
pleased with her, that he made her a solemn promise
to be her husband, and to love her for ever ; which
she hoped would be prophetic of a real affection,
when he should know it was his own wife, the
despised Helena, whose conversation had so delighted
him.

Bertram never knew how sensible a lady Helena
was, else perhaps he would not have been so regardless

N

1 68 Tales from Shakspeare

of her; and seeing her every day, he had entirely
overlooked her beauty ; a face we are accustomed to
see constantly, losing the effect which is caused by
the first sight either of beauty or of plainness ; and
of her understanding it was impossible he should
judge, because she felt such reverence, mixed with
her love for him, that she w^as always silent in his
presence : but now that her future fate, and the
happy ending^ of all her love-projects, seemed to
depend on her leaving a favourable impression on the
mind of Bertram from this night’s interview, she
exerted all her wit to please him ; and the simple
graces of her lively conversation and the endearing
sweetness of her manners so charmed Bertram, that
he vowed she should be his wife. Helena begged the
ring from off his finger as a token of his regard, and
he gave it to her ; and in return for this ring, which
it was of such importance to her to possess, she gave
him another ring, which was one the king had made
her a present of. Before it was light in the morning,
she sent Bertram away ; and he immediately set out
on his journey towards his mother’s house.

Helena prevailed on the widow and Diana to
accompany her to Paris, their further assistance being
necessary to the full accomplishment of the plan she
had formed. When they arrived there, they found
the king was gone upon a visit to the countess of
Rousillon, and Helena followed the king with all the
speed she could make.

The king was still in perfect health, and his
gratitude to her who had been the means of his
recovery was so lively in his mind, that the moment
he saw the countess of Rousillon, he began to talk of
Helena, calling her a precious jewel that was lost by
the folly of her son ; but seeing the subject distressed
the countess, who sincerely lamented the death of
Helena, he said, My good lady, I have forgiven

All’s Well that Ends Well 169

and forgotten all.” But the good-natured old Lafeu,
who was present, and could not bear that the
memory of his favourite Helena should be so lightly
passed over, said, “This I must say, the young lord
did great offence to his majesty, his mother, and his
lady ; but to himself he did the greatest wrong of
all, for he has lost a wife whose beauty astonished
all eyes, whose words took all ears captive, whose
deep perfection made all hearts wish to serve her.”
The king said, “ Praising what is lost makes the
remembrance dear. Well — call him hither ; ” mean-
ing Bertram, who now presented himself before the
king : and, on his expressing deep sorrow for the
injuries he had done to Helena, the king, for his
dead father’s and his admirable mother’s sake, par-
doned him and restored him once more to his favour.
But the gracious countenance of the king was soon
changed towards him, for he perceived that Bertram
wore the very ring upon his finger which he had
given to Helena : and he well remembered that
Helena had called all the saints in heaven to witness
she would never part with that ring, unless she sent
it to the king himself upon some great disaster be-
falling her ; and Bertram, on the king’s questioning
him how he came by the ring, told an improbable
story of a lady throwing it to him out of a window,
and denied ever having seen Helena since the day of
their marriage. The king, knowing Bertram’s dis-
like to his wife, feared he had destroyed her : and
he ordered his guards to seize Bertram, saying, “ I
am wrapt in dismal thinking, for I fear the life of
Helena was foully snatched.” At this moment
Diana and her mother entered, and presented a
petition to the king, wherein they begged his majesty
to exert his royal power to compel Bertram to marry
Diana, he having made her a solemn promise of
marriage. Bertram, fearing the king’s anger, denied

1 70 Tales from Shakspeare |

he had made any such promise ; and then Diana
produced the ring (which Helena had put into her J
hands) to confirm the truth of her words ; and she ji
said that she had given Bertram the ring he then |
wore, in exchange for that, at the time he vowed to
marry her. On hearing^ this, the king ordered the •
guards to seize her also ; and her account of the ring
differing from Bertram’s, the king’s suspicions were
confirmed : and he said, if they did not confess how
they came by this ring of Helena’s, they should be
both put to death. Diana requested her mother
might be permitted to fetch the jeweller of whom
she bought the ring, which being granted, the widow
went out, and presently returned leading in Helena ;
herself. <;

The good countess, who in silent grief had beheld '«
her son’s danger, and had even dreaded that the
suspicion of his having destroyed his wife might
possibly be true, finding her dear Helena, whom she
loved with even a maternal affection, was still living,
felt a delight she was hardly able to support ; and
the king, scarce believing for joy that it was Helena,
said, “Is this indeed the wife of Bertram that I see?”
Helena, feeling herself yet an unacknowledged wife,
replied, “ No, my good lord, it is but the shadow
of a wife you see, the name and not the thing.”
Bertram cried out, “ Both, both ! O pardon ! ” — “ O
my lord,” said Helena, “ when I personated this fair !
maid, I found you wondrous kind ; and look, here '
is your letter ! ” reading to him in a joyful tone those
words which she had once repeated so sorrowfully,
When from my finger you can get this ring^ — “This
is done ; it was to me you gave the ring. Will you
be mine, now you are doubly won ? ” Bertram
replied, “ If you can make it plain that you were
the lady I talked with that night, I will love you
dearly ever, ever dearly.” This was no difficult task, ^

All’s Well that Ends Well 17 1

for the widow and Diana came with Helena to prove
this fact ; and the king was so well pleased with
Diana, for the friendly assistance she had rendered
the dear lady he so truly valued for the service she
had done him, that he promised her also a noble
husband : Helena’s history giving him a hint, that it
was a suitable reward for kings to bestow upon fair
ladies when they perform notable services.

Thus Helena at last found that her father’s legacy
was indeed sanctified by the luckiest stars in heaven ;
for she was now the beloved wife of her dear
Bertram, the daughter-in-law of her noble mistress,
and herself the countess of Rousillon.

THE TAMING OF THE SHREW

the Shrew, was the eldest

Baptista> a^ich gentleman of
Padua. ~bhe was^a lady of such an ungovernable
spirit and fiery temper, such a loud-tongued scold,
that she was known in Padua by no other name
than Katharine the Shrew. It seemed very unlikely,
indeed impossible, that any gentleman would ever be
found who would venture to marry this lady, and
therefore Baptista was much blamed for deferring
his consent to many excellent offers that were made
to her gentle sister (gTancaP^puttinsLloff all Bianca’s
suitors with this excuse, that when the eldest sister
wasTairly off his hands, they should have free leave
to address young Bianca.

It happened, however, that a gentleman, named
Petruchio, came to Padua, purposely to look out for
a wife, who, nothing discouraged by these reports
of Katharine’s temper, and hearing she was j;ich
and handsorne^-. resolved upon marrying this famous
termagant, and taming her into a meek and manage-
able wife. And truly none was so fit to set about
this herculean labour as Petruchio, whose spirit was
as high as Katharine’s, and he was a witty and most
happy-tempered humourist, and withal so wise, and
of such a true judgment, that he well knew how”to
feign a passionate and furious deportment, when his
spirits were so calm that himself could have laughed
merrily at his own angry feigning, for his natural
temper .was carel£SS..-aruLl£asyj^ the boisterous airs he
assumed when he became the husband of Katharine
being but in sport, or more properly speaking, affected
172

The Taming of the Shrew 173

by his excellent discernment, as the only means to
overcome, in her own way, the passionate ways of
the furious Katharine.

A courting then Petruchio went to Katharine the
Shrew ; and first of all he applied to Baptista her
father, for leave to woo \i\% jrmtle daughter Katharine^
as Petruchio called her, saying archly, that having
heard of her bashful modesty and mild behaviour, he
had come from Verona to solicit her love. Her
father, though he wished her married, was forced to
confess Katharine would ill answer this character, it
being soon apparent of what manner of gentleness
she was composed, for her music-master rushed into
the room to complain that the gentle Katharine, his
pupil, had broken his head with her lifte, for presum-
ing to find fault with her performance ; which, when
Petruchio heard, he said, It is a brave wench ; 1
love her more than ever, and long to have some chat
with her ; ” and hurrying the old gentleman for a
positive answer, he said, My business is in haste,
signior Baptista, I cannot come every day to woo.
You knew my father : he is dead, and has left me
heir to all his lands and goods. Then tell me, if I
get your daughter’s love, what ,4qwry._you will give
with her.” Baptista thought his manner was some-
w:hat blunt for a lover ; but being glad to get Katha-
rine married, he answered that he would give her
twenty thousand crowns for her dowi^ and half his
estate at his death : so this odT matchwas quickly
agreed on, and Baptista went to apprise his shrewish
daughter of her lover’s addresses, and sent her in to
Petruchio to listen to his suit.

In the mean time Petruchio was settling with
himself the mode pf courtship he should pursue ; and
he said, I will woo her with some spirit when she
comes. If she rails at me, why then I will tell her
she sings as sweetly as a nightingale ; and if she

174 Tales from Shakspeare

frowns, I will say she looks as clear as roses newly
washed with dew. If she will not speak a word, I
will praise the eloquence of her language ; and if she
bids me leave her, I will give her thanks as if she bid
me stay with her a week,” Now the stately Katha-
rine entered, and Petrucliio first addressed her with
Good morrow, Kate, for that is your name, I hear.”
Katharine, not liking this plain salutation, said dis-
dainfully, They call me Katharine who do speak to
me.” “You lie,” replied the lover; “for you are
called plain Kate, and bonny Kate, and sometimes
Kate the Shrew : but, Kate, you are the prettiest
Kate in Christendom, and therefore, Kate, hearing
your mildness praised in every town, I am come to
woo you for my wife.”

A strange courtship they made of it. She in loud
and angry terms showing him how justly she had
gained the name of Shrew, while he still praised her
sweet and courteous words, till at length, hearing her
father coming, he said (intending to make as quick a
wooing as possible), “ Sweet Katharine, let us set this
idle chat aside, for your father has consented that you
shall be my wife, your dowry is agreed on, and whether
you will or no, I will msirry you.”

And now Baptista entering, Petruchio told him his
daughter had received him kindly, and that she had
promised to be married the next Sunday^ This
Katharme^enie^ saying she w^ld rather see him
hanged on Sunday, and reproached her father for
wishing to wed her to such a mad-cap ruffian as
Petruchio. ^etruchig^esired her father not to regard
her angry words, for they had agreed she should seem
reluctant before him, but that when they were alone
he had found her v,ery fond and loving ; and he said
to her, “ Give me your hand, Kate ; I will go to
Venice to buy you fine apparel against our wedding
day. Provide the feast, father, and bid the wedding

The Taming of the Shrew 175

guests. I will be sure to bring rings, fine array, and
rich clothes, that my Katharine may be fine ; and
kiss me, Kate, for we will be married on Sunday.”

On the Sunday all the wedding guests were assembled,
but they waited long before Petruchio came, and
Katharine wept for vexation to think that Petruchio
had only been making a jest of her. At last, however,
he appeared ; but he brought none of the bridal finery
he had promised Katharine, nor was he dressed him-
self like a bridegroom, but in strange disordered attire,
as if he meant to make a sport of the serious business
he came about ; and his servant and the very horses
on which they rode were in like manner in mean and
fantastic fashion habited.

Petruchio could^ not be persuaded to change, his
dress ; he said Katharine was to be married to him,
and not to his clothes ; and finding it was in vain to
argue with him, to the church they went, he still
behaving in the same mad way, for when the priest
asked Petruchio if J^tharine should be his wife, he
swore so loud that she should, that, all amazed, the
priest let fall his book, and as he stooped to take it up,
this mad-brained bridegroom gave him such-an-cufi^
that down fell the priest and his book again. And all
the while they were being married he stamped and
swore so, that the high-spirited Katharine trembled
and shook with fear. After the ceremony was over^
whil^ they were yet in the church, he called for wine,
and drank a loud health to ihe company, and threw a
sop which was at the bottom of the glass full in the
sexton’s face, giving no other reason for this strange
act, than that the sexton’s beard grew thin and hun-
gerly, and seemed to ask the sop as he was drinking.
Never sure was there such a mad marriage ; but
Petruchio did but put this wildness on, the better to
succeed in the plot he had formed to tame his shrewish
wife.

176 Tales from Shakspeare

Baptista had provided a sumptuous marriage feast,
but when they returned from church, Petruchio,
taking hold of Katharine, declared his intention of
carrying his wife home instantly : and no remonstrance
of his father-in-law, or angry words of the enraged
Katharine, could make Trim change his purpose. He
claimed a husband’s right to dispose of his wife as he
pleased, and away he hurried Katharine off : he seem-
ing so daring and resolute that no one dared attempt
to stop him.

Petruchio mounted his wife upon a miserable horse,
lean and lank, which he had picked out for the pur-
pose, and himself and his servant no better mounted ;
they journeyed on through rough and miry ways, and
ever when this horse of Katharine’s stumbled, he would
storm and swear at the poor jaded beast, who could
scarce crawl under his burthen, as if he had been the
most passionate man alive.

At length, after a weary journey, during which
Katharine had heard nothing but the wild ravings of
Petruchio at the servant and the horses, they arrived
at his house. Petruchio welcomed her kindly to her
home, but he resolved she should have neither rest
nor food that night. The tables were spread, and
supper soon served ; but Petruchio, pretending to find
fault with every dish, threw the meat about the floor,
and ordered the servants to remove it away ; and all
this he did, as he said, in love for his Katharine, that
she might not eat meat that was not well dressed.
And when Katharine, weary and supperless, retired
to rest, he found the same fault with the bed, throw-
ing the pillows and bed-clothes about the room, so
that she was forced to sit down in a chair, where
if she chanced to drop asleep, she was presently
awakened by the loud voice of her husband, storm-
ing at the servants for he ill-making of his wife’s
bridal-bed.

Petruchio, pretending to find fault with every dish, threw the
meat about the floor

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The Taming of the Shrew 177

The next day Petruchio pursued the same course,
still speaking kind words to Katharine, but when she
attempted to eat, finding fault with everything that
was set before her, throwing the breakfast on the
floor as he had done the supper ; and Katharine, the
haughty Katharine, was fain to beg the servants
would bring her secretly a morsel of food ; but they
being instructed by Petruchio, replied, they dared not
give her anything unknown to their master. Ah,”
said she, did he marry me to famish me ? Beggars
that come to my father’s dooi have food given them.
But I, who never knew what it was to entreat for
anything, am starved for want of food, giddy for want
of sleep, with oaths kept waking, and with brawling
fed ; and that which vexes me more than all, he does
it under the name of perfect love, pretending that if I
sleep or eat, it were present death to me.” Here the
soliloquy was interrupted by the entrance of Petruchio:
he, not meaning she should be quite starved, had
brought her a small portion of meat, and he said to
her, “ How fares my sweet Kate ? Here, love, you
see how diligent I am, I have dressed your meat my-
self. I am sure this kindness merits thanks. What,
not a word ? Nay, then you love not the meat, and
all the pains I have taken is to no purpose.” He
then ordered the servant to take the dish away.
Extreme hunger, which had abated the pride of
Katharine, made her say, though angered to the heart,
I pray you let it stand.” But this was not all
Petruchio intended to bring her to, and he replied.
The poorest service is repaid with thanks, and so
shall mine before you touch the meat.” On this
Katharine brought out a reluctant I thank you, sir.”
And now he suffered her to make a slender meal,
saying, Much good may it do your gentle heart,
Kate ; eat apace ! And now, my honey love, we
will return to your father’s house, and revel it as

1 78 Tales from Shakspeare

bravely as the best, with silken coats and caps and
golden rings, with rufFs and scarfs and fans and double
change of finery ; ” and to make her believe he really
intended to give her these gay things, he called in a
tailor and a haberdasher, who brought some new
clothes he had ordered for her, and then giving her
plate to the servant to take away, before she had half
satisfied her hunger, he said, “ What, have you dined ?
The haberdasher presented a cap, saying, “ Here is
the cap your worship bespoke on which Petruchio
began to storm afresh, saying the cap was moulded in
a porringer, and that it was no bigger than a cockle
or walnut shell, desiring the haberdasher to take it
away and make it bigger. Katharine said, will
have this ; all gentlewomen wear such caps as these.”
— “ When you are gentle,” replied Petruchio, you
shall have one too, and not till then.” The meat
Katharine had eaten had a little revived her fallen
spirits, and she said, Why, sir, I trust I may have
leave to speak, and speak I will : I am no child,
no babe ; your betters have endured to hear me
say my mind ; and if you cannot, you had better stop
your ears.” Petruchio would not hear these angry
words, for he had happily discovered a better way of
managing his wife than keeping up a jangling argu-
ment with her; therefore his answer was, ‘‘Why,
you say true ; it is a paltry cap, and I love you for
not liking it.” — “ Love me, or love me not,” said
Katharine, “ I like the cap, and I will have this cap
or none.” — “ Y ou say you wish to see the gown,’'
said Petruchio, still affecting to misunderstand her.
The tailor then came forward and showed her a fine
gown he had made for her. Petruchio, whose intent
was that she should have neither cap nor gown, found
as much fault with that. “ O mercy. Heaven ! ” said
he, “ what stuff is here ! What, do you call this a
sleeve ? it is like a demi-cannon, carved up and down

The Taming of the Shrew 179

like an apple tart.” The tailor said, You bid me
make it according to the fashion of the times ; ” and
Katharine said, she never saw a better fashioned
gown. This was enough for Petruchio, and privately
desiring these people might be paid for their goods,
and excuses made to them for the seemingly strange
treatment he bestowed upon them, he with fierce
words and furious gestures drove the tailor and the
haberdasher out of the room ; and then, turning to
Katharine, he said, “ Well, come, my Kate, we will go
to your father’s even in these mean garments we now
wear.’* And then he ordered his horses, affirming
they should reach Baptista’s house by dinner-time, for
that it was but seven o’clock. Now it was not early
morning, but the very middle of the day, when he
spoke this ; therefore Katharine ventured to say, though
modestly, being almost overcome by the vehemence
of his manner, ‘‘ I dare assure you, sir, it is two o’clock,
and will be supfcr-time before we get there.” But
Petruchio meant that she should be so completely
subdued, that she should assent to everything he said,
before he carried her to her father ; and therefore, as
if he were lord even of the sun, and could command
the hours, he said it should be what time he pleased
to have it, before he set forward ; ‘‘ For,” he said,
‘‘ whatever I say or do, you still are crossing it. I
will not go to-day, and when I go, it shall be what
o’clock I say it is.” Another day Katharine was
forced to practise her newly-found obedience, and not
till he had brought her proud spirit to such a perfect
gibjectioh~that she dared hot remember there was
such a word as contradiction, woyld Petruchio allow
her to go to her father’s house ; and even while they
were upon their journey thither, she was in danger of
being turned back again, only because she happened
to hint it was the sun, v/hen he affirmed the moon
shone brightly at noonday. Now, by my mother’s

i8o Tales from Shakspeare

son,” said he, and that is myself, it shall be the
moon, or stars, or what I list, before I journey to
your father’s house.” He then made as if he were
going back again ; but Katharine, no longer Katha-
rine the Shrew, but the obedient wife, said, ‘‘ Let us
go forward, I pray, now we have come so far, and it
shall be the sun, or moon, or what you please, and if
you please to call it a rush candle henceforth, I vow
it shall be so for me.” This he was resolved to prove,
therefore he said again, “ I say, it is the moon.” — I
know it is the moon,” replied Katharine. ‘‘ You lie,
it is the blessed sun,” said Petruchio. Then it is
the blessed sun,” replied Katharine ; ‘‘ but sun it is
not, when you say it is not. What you will have it
named, even so it is, and so it ever shall be for
Katharine.” Now then he suffered her to proceed
on her journey ; but further to try if this yielding
humour would last, he addressed an old gentleman
they met on the road as if he had been a young
woman, saying to him, “ Good morrow, gentle mis-
tress ; ” and asked Katharine if she had ever beheld a
fairer gentlewoman, praising the red and white of the
old man’s cheeks, and comparing his eyes to two
bright stars ; and again he addressed him, saying,
Fair lovely maid, once more good day to you ! ”
and said to his wife, ‘‘ Sweet Kate, embrace her for
her beauty’s sake.” The now completely vanquished
Katharine quickly adopted her husband’s opinion, and
made her speech in like sort to the old gentleman,
saying to him, ‘‘ Y oung budding virgin, you are fair,
and fresh, and sweet : whither are you going, and
where is your dwelling ? Happy are the parents of
so fair a child.” — ‘‘ Why, how now, Kate,” said
Petruchio ; I hope you are not mad. This is a
man, old and wrinkled, faded and withered, and not a
maiden, as you say he is.” On this Katharine said,
^‘Pardon me, old gentleman ; the sun has so dazzled my

The Taming of the Shrew i8i

eyes, that everything I look on seemeth green. Now
I perceive you are a reverend father : I hope you will
pardon me for my sad mistake.” — Do, good old
grandsire,” said Petruchio, ‘‘ and tell us which way
you are travelling. We shall be glad of your good
company, if you are going our way.” The old gentle-
man replied, Fair sir, and you, my merry mistress,
your strange encounter has much amazed me. My
name is Vincentio, and I am going to visit a son of
mine who lives at Padua.” Then Petruchio knew
the old gentleman to~be the father of Lucentio^.a young
gentleman who was to be married to Baptista’s younger
daughter, Bianca, and he made Vincentio very happy,
by telling him the rich marriage his son was about to
make : and they all journeyed on pleasantly together
till they came to Baptista’s house, where there was a
large company assembled to celebrate the wedding of
Bianca and Lucentio, Baptista having willingly con-
sented to the marriage of Bianca when he had got
Katharine off his hands.^.^--^^

When they entered, ^Baptista^^el corned them to
the wedding feast, and there was present also another

newly^ married pair.

dXucentiorhBianca’s _jiusband^ and Hortensio, the
other new married man, could not forbear sly jests,
which seemed to hint at the shrewish disposition of
Petruchio’s wife, and these fond bridegrooms seemed
highly pleased with the mild tempers of the ladies
they had chosen, laughing at Petruchio for his less
fortunate choice. Petruchio took little notice of
their jokes till the ladies were retired after dinner,
and then he perceived Baptista himself joined in the
laugh against him : for when Petruchio affirmed that
his wife would prove more obedient than theirs, the
father of Katharine said, Now, in good sadness, son
Petruchio, I fear you have got the veriest shrew of
all.” “ Well,” said Petruchio, “ 1 say no, and there-

1 82 Tales from Shakspeare

fore for assurance that I speak the truth, let us each
one send for his wife, and he whose wife is most
obedient to come at first when she is sent for, shall
win a wager which we will propose.” To this the
other two husbands willingly consented, for they
were quite confident that their gentle wives would
prove more obedient than the headstrong Katharine ;
and they proposed a wager of twenty crowns, but
Petruchio merrily said, he would lay as much as that
upon his hawk or hound, but twenty times as much
upon his wife. Lucentio and Hortensio raised the
wager to a hundred crowns, and Lucentio first sent
his servant to desire Bianca would come to him.
But the servant returned, and said, Sir, my mistress
sends you word she is busy and cannot come.” —
“ How,” said Petruchio, ‘‘ does she say she is busy
and cannot come ? Is that an answer for a wife ? ”
Then they laughed at him, and said, it would be well
if Katharine did not send him a worse answer. And
now it was Hortensio’s turn to send for his wife ;
and he said to his servant, Go, and entreat my wife
to come to me.” “ Oh ho ! entreat her ! ” said
Petruchio. ‘‘ Nay, then, she needs must come.” —
1 am afraid, sir,” said Hortensio, your wife will
not be entreated.” But presently this civil husband
looked a little blank, when the servant returned with-
out his mistress ; and he said to him, How now !
Where is my wife ? ” — Sir,” said the servant, “ my
mistress says, you have some goodly jest in hand, and
therefore she will not come. She bids you come to
her.” — ‘‘ Worse and worse ! ” said Petruchio ; and
then he sent his servant, saying, ^‘Sirrah, go to your
mistress, and tell her I command her to come to me.”
The company had scarcely time to think she would
not obey this summons, when Baptista, all in amaze,
exclaimed, ‘/Now, by my holidame^ here comes
Katharine ! ” and she entered, saying meekly to

The Taming of the Shrew 183

Petruchio, What is your will, sir, that you send for
nie?” — ‘‘Where is your sister and Hortensio’s wife ?”
said he. Katharine replied, “They sit conferring by
the parlour fire.” — “ Go, fetch them hither ! ” said
Petruchio. Away went Katharine without reply
to perform her husband’s command. “ Here is a
wonder,” said Lucentio, “ if you talk of a wonder.”
— And so it is,” said Hortensio ; “ I marvel what
it bodes.” — “ Marry, peace it bodes,” said Petruchio,
“and love, and quiet life, and right supremacy; and,
to be short, everything that is sweet and happy.”
Katharine’s father, overjoyed to see this reformation
in his daughter, said, “ Now, fair befall thee, son
Petruchio ! jou have won the wager, and I will add
another twenty tliousancl crowns to her dowry, as if
she were another daughter, for she is changed as if
she had never been.” — Nay,” said Petruchio, “ I
will vyin the wager better yet, and show more signs
of her new-built virtue and obedience.” Katharine
now entering with the two ladies, he continued,
“See where she comes, and brings your froward wives
as prisoners to her womanly persuasion. Katharine,
that cap of yours does not become you ; off with
that bauble, and throw it under foot.” Katharine
instantly took off her cap, and threw it down.
“ Lord ! ” said Hortensio’s wife, “ may I never have
a cause to sigh till I am brought to such a silly
pass! ” And Bianca, she too said, “Fie, what foolish
duty call you this ? ” On this Bianca’s husband said
to her, “I wish your duty were as foolish too ! The
wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, has cost me a
hundred crowns since dinner-time.” — “ The more
fool you,” said Bianca, “ for laying on my duty.” —
“ Katharine,” said Petruchio, “ I charge you tell
these headstrong women what duty they owe their
lords and husbands.” And to the wonder of all pre-
sent, the reformed shrewish lady spoke as eloquently

184 Tales from Shakspeare

in praise of the wifelike duty of obedience, as
she had practised it implicitly in a ready submission
to Petruchio’s will. And Katharine once more be-
came fiinous in Padua, not as heretofore, as Katharine
the Shrew, but as Katharine the most obedient and
duteous wife in Padua.

THE COMEDY OF ERRORS

The states of Syracuse and Ephesus being at
variance, there 'was a cruel law made at
Ephesus, ordaining that jL^ny merchant of Syracuse
was seen in the city of Ephesus, he w;^ to be put
to deatli, unless he could pay a thousand marks for
the ransom of his life.

iEgeon, an old merchant of Syracuse, was dis-
covered in the streets of Ephesus, and brought before
the duke, either to pay this heavy fine, or to receive
sentence of death.

iEgeon had no money to pay the fine, and the
duke, before he pronounced the sentence of death
upon him, desired him to relate the history of his
life, and to tell for what cause he had ventured to
come to the city of Ephesus, which it was death for
any Syracusan merchant to enter.

iEgeon said, that he did not fear to die, for sorrow
had made him weary of his life, but that a heavier
task could not have been imposed upon him than to
relate the events of his unfortunate life. He then
began his own history, in the following words :

‘‘ 1 was born at Syracuse, and brought up to the
profession of a merchant. I married a lady, with
whom I lived very happily, but being obliged to go
to Epidamnum, I was detained there by my business
six months, and then, finding I should be obliged to
stay some time longer, I sent for my wife, who, as
soon as she arrived, was brought to bed of two sons,
and what was very strange, they were both so
exactly alike, that it was impossible to distinguish
the one from the other. At the same time that rny

185

1 86 Tales from Shakspeare

wife was brought to bed of these twin boys, a poor
woman in the inn where my wife lodged was brought
to bed of two sons, and these twins were as much
like each other as my two sons were. The parents
of thesfif children being exceeding poor, I bought the
two boys, and brought them up to attend upon my
sons.

“ My sons were very fine children, and my wife
was not a little proud of two such boys ; and she
daily wishing to return home, I unwillingly agreed,
and in an evil hour we got on shipboard ; for we
had not sailed above a league from Epidamnum
before a dreadful storm arose, which continued with
such violence, that the sailors seeing no chance of
saving the ship, crowded into the boat to save their
own lives, leaving us alone in the ship, which we
every moment expected would be destroyed by the
fury of the storm.

‘‘ The incessant weeping of my wife, and the
piteous complaints of the pretty babes, who, not
knowing what to fear, wept for fashion, because they
saw their mother weep, filled me with terror for
them, though I did not for myself fear death ; and
all my thoughts were bent to contrive means for
their safety. I tied my youngest son to the end of
a small spare mast, such as seafaring men provide
against storms ; at the other end I bound the
youngest of the twin slaves, and at the same time I
directed my wife how to fasten the other children in
like manner to another mast. She thus having the
care of the two eldest children, and I of the two
younger, we bound ourselves separately to these
masts with the children ; and but for this contrivance
we had all been lost, for the ship split on a mighty
rock, and was dashed in pieces ; and we, clinging to
these slender masts, were supported above the water,
where I, having the care of two children, was unable

The Comedy of Errors 187

to assist my wife, who with the other children was
soon separated from me ; but while they were yet in
my sight, they were taken up by a boat of fishermen,
from Corinth (as I supposed), and seeing them in
safety, I had no care but to struggle with the wild
sea-waves, to preserve my dear son and the voungest
slave. At length we, in our turn, were taken up by
a ship, and the sailors, knowing me, gave us kind
welcome and assistance, and landed us in safety at
Syracuse ; but from that sad hour I have never
known what became of my wife and eldest child.

My youngest son, and now my only care, when
he was eighteen years of age, began to be inquisitive
after his mother and his brother, and often impor-
tuned me that he might take his attendant, the young
slave, who had also lost his brother, and go in search
of them : at length I unwillingly gave consent, for
though I anxiously desired to hear tidings of my
wife and eldest son, yet in sending my younger one
to find them, I hazarded the loss of him also. It
is now seven years since my son left me ; five years
have I passed in travelling through the world in
search of him ; I have been in farthest Greece, and
through the bounds of Asia, and coasting homewards,
I landed here in Ephesus, being unwilling to leave
any place unsought that harbours men ; but this day
must end the story of my life, and happy should I
think myself in my death, if I were assured my wife
and sons were living.”

Here the hapless i^geon endej the account of his
misfortunes; and the duke, pitying this unfortunate
father, who had brought upon himself this great peril
by his love for his lost son, said, if it were not against
the laws, which his oath and dignity did not permit
him to alter, he would freely pardon him ; yet,
instead of dooming him to instant death, as the strict
letter of the law required, he would give him that

1 88 Tales from Shakspeare

day to try if he could beg or borrow the money to
pay the fine.

This day of grace did seem no great favour to
iTgeopj for not knowing any man in Ephesus, there
seemed to him but little chance that any stranger
would lend or give him a thousand marks to pay the
fine ; and helpless and hopeless of any relief, he
retired from the presence of the duke in the custody
of a jailor.

jTgeon supposed he knew no person in Ephesus ;
but at the very time he was in danger of losing his
life through the careful search he was making after
his youngest son, that son and his eldest son also
were both in the city of Ephesus.

^geon’s sons, besides being exactly alike in face
and person, were both named alike, being both called
Antipholus, and the two twin slaves were also both
named Dromio. iEgeon’s youngest son, Antipholus
of Syracuse, he whom the old man had come to
Ephesus to seek, happened to arrive at Ephesus with
his slave Dromio that very same day that iEgeon
did ; and he being also a merchant of Syracuse, he
would have been in the same danger that his father
was, but by good fortune he met a friend who told
him the peril an old merchant of Syracuse was in,
and advised him to pass for a merchant of Epidamnum ;
this Antipholus agreed to do, and he was sorry to
hear one of his own countrymen was in this danger,
but he little thought this old merchant was his own
father.

The eldest son of iEgeon (who must be called
Antipholus of Ephesus, to distinguish him from his
brother Antipholus of Syracuse) had lived at Ephesus
twenty years, and, being a rich man, was well able
to have paid the money for the ransom of his father’s
life ; but Antipholus knew nothing of his father,
being so young when he was taken out of the sea

The Comedy of Errors 189

with his mother by the fishermen that he only re-
membered he had been so preserved, but he had no
recollection of either his father or his mother ; the
fishermen who took up this Antipholus and his
mother and the young slave Dromio, having carried
the two children away from her (to the great grief
of that unhappy lady), intending to sell them.

Antipholus and Dromio were sold by them to
duke Menaphon, a famous warrior, who was uncle
to the duke of Ephesus, and he carried the boys to
Ephesus when he went to visit the duke his nephew.

The duke_of Ephesus takiiig a likin^jfo^ yoiing
Antipholus, wheiTTie grew up, madeTiim ,aiiJofficcr
in his army, in which he distinguished himself by his
great bravery in the wars, where he saved the life of
his patron the dyke, who rewarded his merit by
marryihg him to Adriana, a rich lady of Ephesus ;
with whom he. was living, (his slave Dromio still
attending him) at the time his father came there.

Antipholus of Syracuse, when he parted with his
friend^ whTadvised him to say he came from
Epidamnum, gave his slave Dromio some money to
carr^y to the inn where he intended to dine, and in
the mea^itTme he saidTeTyould walk about and view
the city, and obsSve the manners of the people. .

I)romio was a pleasant fellow, anT^wEen Anti-
pholus was dull and melancholy he used to divert
himself with the odd humours and merry jests or
his slave, so that the freedoms of speech he allowed
in Dromio were greater than is usual between masters
and their servants.

When Antipholus of Syracuse hacL-sent- Dromio
away, he stood awiiile_Jdiin_k over his^ solitary
wanderings in searchuof-iiis-mother and his brother,
of whom in no place where he landed could he hear
the least tidings ; and he said sorrowfully to himself,
‘‘ I am like a drop of water in the ocean, which

190 Tales from Shakspeare

seeking to find its fellow drop, loses itself in the wide
sea. So I unhappily, to find a mother and a brother,
do lose myself.”

While he was thus meditating on his weary travels,
which had hitherto been so useless, I^romio (as he
thought) r burned. Arutipholus, wondering that he
came back so soon, asked him^^hereTie had left the
money. Now was not his own Drornio, but the
twin-brother that:_iiyed wntF^ntipholus of Kphesus,
thatTh^ s^ke to.^T^he^ty^ Dromio^and t^ two
Antipholuses were_sull as mudTalikj/as .^^eon^had
said they 'were^hTTheiFjnfeyy'T^l^^ wonder

AntiphoTus thought it was his own slave returned,
and asked him why he came back so soon. Dromio
replied, “ My mistress sent me to bid you come to
dinner. The capon burns, and the pig falls from the
spit, and the meat will be all cold if you do not come
home.” ‘‘These jests are out of season,” said Anti-
pholus : “ where did you leave the money ? ” Dromio
still answering, that his mistress had sent him to
fetch Antipholus to dinner : “ What mistress ? ” said
Antipholus. “ Why, your worship’s wife, sir,”
replied Dromio. Antipholus having no wife, he was
very angry with Dromio, and said, “ Because I
familiarly sometimes chat with you, you presume to
jest with me in this free manner. I am not in a
sportive humour now : where is the money ? we
being strangers here, how dare you trust so great a
charge from your own custody ? ” Dromio hearing
his master, as he thought him, talk of their being
strangers, supposing Antipholus was jesting, replied
merrily, “ I pray you, sir, jest as you sit at dinner.
I had no charge but to fetch you home, to dine with
my mistress and her sister.” Now Antipholus lost
all patience, and beat Dromio, who ran home, and
told his mistress that his master had refused to come
to dinner, and said that he had no wife.

The Comedy of Errors 191

Adriana, the wife of Antipholus of Ephesus, was
very angry when she heard that her husband said he
had no wife ; for she was of a jealous temper, and
she said her husband meant that he loved another
lady better than herself ; and she began to fret, and
say unkind words of jealousy and reproach of her
husband ; and her sister Luciana, who lived with
her, tried in vain to persuade her out of her groundless
suspicions.

Antipholus of Syracuse went to the inn, and found
Dromio with the money in safety there, and seeing
his own Dromio, he was going again to chide him
for his free jests, when Adriana came up to him, and
not doubting but it was her husband she saw, she
began to reproach him for looking strange upon her
(as well he might, never having seen this angry lady
before); and then she told him how well he loved
her before they were married, and that now he loved
some other lady instead of her. ‘‘ How comes it
now, my husband,” said she, ‘‘ O how comes it that
I have lost your love ? ” — ‘‘ Plead you to me, fair
dame ? ” said the astonished Antipholus. It was in
vain he told her he was not her husband, and that he
had been in Ephesus but two hours ; she insisted on
his going home with her, and Antipholus at last,
being unable to get away, went with her to his
brother’s house, and dined with Adriana and her
sister, the one calling him husband, and the other
brother, he, all amazed, thinking he must have been
married to her in his sleep, or that he was sleeping
now. And Dromio, who followed them, was no less
surprised, for the cook-maid, who was his brother’s
wife, also claimed him for her husband.

While Antipholus of Syracuse was dining with
his brother’s wife, his brother, the real husband,
returned home to dinner with his slave Dromio ;
but the servants would not open the door, because

192 Tales from Shakspeare

their mistress had ordered them not to admit any
company ; and when they repeatedly knocked, and
said they were Antipholus and Dromio, the maids
laughed at them, and said that Antipholus was at
dinner with their mistress, and Dromio was in the
kitchen ; and though they almost knocked the door
down, they could not gain admittance, and at last
Antipholus went away very angry, and strangely
surprised at hearing a gentleman was dining with his
wife.

When Antipholus of Syracuse had finished his
dinner, he was so perplexed at the lady’s still per-
sisting in calling him husband, and at hearing that
Dromio had also been claimed by the cook-maid,
that he left the house, as soon as he could find any
pretence to get away ; for though* he was very much
pleased with Luciana, the sister, yet the jealous-
tempered Adriana he disliked very much, nor was
Dromio at all better satisfied with his fair wife in the
kitchen : therefore both master and man were glad
to get away from their new wives as fast as they
could.

The moment Antipholus of Syracuse had left the
house, he was met by a goldsmith, who mistaking
him, as Adriana had done, for Antipholus of Ephesus,
gave him a gold chain, calling him by his name ;
and when Antipholus would have refused the chain,
saying it did not belong to him, the goldsmith 1 5plied
he made it by his own orders ; and went away,
leaving the chain in the hands of Antipholus, who
ordered his man Dromio to get his things on board
a ship, not choosing to stay in a place any longer,
where he met with such strange adventures that he
surely thought himself bewitched.

The goldsmith who had given the chain to the
wrong Antipholus, was arrested immediately after,
for a sum of money he owed ; and Antipholus, the

The Comedy of Errors 193

married brother, to whom the goldsmith thought he
had given the chain, happened to come to the place
where the officer was arresting the goldsmith, who,
when he saw Antipholus, asked him to pay for the
gold chain he had just delivered to him, the price
amounting to nearly the same sum as that for which
he had been arrested. Antipholus denying the having
received the chain, and the goldsmith persisting to
declare that he had but a few minutes before given it
to him, they disputed this matter a long time, both
thinking they were right ; for Antipholus knew the
goldsmith never gave him the chain, and so like were
the two brothers, the goldsmith was as certain he had
delivered the chain into his hands, till at last the
officer took the goldsmith away to prison for the debt
he owed, and at the same time the goldsmith made
the officer arrest Antipholus for the price of the
chain ; so that at the conclusion of their dispute,
Antipholus and the merchant were both taken away
to prison together.

As Antipholus was going to prison, he met Dromio
of Syracuse, his brother’s slave, and mistaking him
for his own, he ordered him to go to Adriana his
wife, and tell her to send the money for which he
was arrested. Dromio wondering that his master
should send him back to the strange house where he
dined, and from which he had just before been in
such haste to depart, did not dare to reply, though he
came to tell his master the ship was ready to sail : for
he saw Antipholus was in no humour to be jpted
with. Therefore he went away, grumbling within
himself, that he must return to Adriana s house.

Where,” said he, “ Dowsabel claims me for a
husband : but I must go, for servants must obey their
masters’ commands.”

Adriana gave him the money, and as Dromio was
returning, he met Antipholus of Syracuse, who was

194 Tales from Shakspeare

Still in amaze at the surprising adventures he met
with ; for his brother being well known in Ephesus,
there was hardly a man he met in the streets but
saluted him as an old acquaintance : some offered
him money which they said was owing to him, some
invited him to come and see them, and some gave
him thanks for kindnesses they said he had done
them, all mistaking him for his brother. A tailor
showed him some silks he had bought for him, and
insisted upon taking measure of him for some clothes.

V Antipholus began to think he was among a nation
^f sorcerers and witches, and Dromio did not at all
relieve his master from his bewildered thoughts, by
asking him how he got free from the officer who
was carrying him to prison, and giving him the purse
of gold which Adriana had sent to pay the debt with.
This talk of Dromio’s of the arrest and of a prison,
and of the money he had brought from Adriana,
perfectly confounded Antipholus, and he said, ‘‘ This
fellow Dromio is certainly distracted, and we wander
here in illusions ; ” and quite terrified at his own
confused thoughts, he cried out, Some blessed power
deliver us from this strange place ! ”

And now another stranger came up to him, and
she was a lady, and she too called him Antipholus,
and told him he had dined with her that day, and
asked him for a gold chain which she said he had
promised to give her. Antipholus now lost all
patience, and calling her a sorceress, he denied that
he had ever promised her a chain, or dined with
her, or had even seen her face before that moment.
The lady persisted in affirming he had dined with
her, and had promised her a chain, which Antipholus
still denying, she further said, that she had given
him a valuable ring, and if he would not give her
the gold chain, she insisted upon having her own
ring again. On this Antipholus became quite frantic.

The Comedy of Errors 195

and again calling her sorceress and witch, and
denying all knowledge of her or her ring, ran away
from her, leaving her astonished at his words and
his wild looks, for nothing to her appeared more
certain than that he had dined with her, and that
she had given him a ring, in consequence of his
promising to make her a present of a gold chain.
But this lady had fallen into the same mistake the
others had done, for she had taken him for his
brother : the married Antipholus had done all the
things she taxed this Antipholus with.

When the married Antipholus was denied entrance
into his own house (those within supposing him to
be already there), he had gone away very angry,
believing it to be one of his wife’s jealous freaks, to
which she was very subject, and remembering that
she had often falsely accused him of visiting other
ladies, he, to be revenged on her for shutting him
out of his own house, determined to go and dine
with this lady, and she receiving him with great
civility, and his wife having so highly offended him,
Antipholus promised to give her a gold chain, which
he had intended as a present for his wife ; it was
the same chain which the goldsmith by mistake had
given to his brother. The lady liked so well the
thoughts of having a fine gold chain, that she gave
the married Antipholus a ring ; which when, as she
supposed (taking his brother for him), he denied,
and said he did not know her, and left her in such
a wild passion, she began to think he was certainly
out of his senses ; and presently she resolved to go
and tell Adriana that her husband was mad. And
while she was telling it to Adriana, he came,
attended by tffe jailor (who allowed him to come
home to get the money to pay the debt), for the
purse of money, which Adriana had sent by Dromio,
and he had delivered to the other Antipholus.

196 Tales from Shakspeare

Adriana believed the story the lady told her of
her husband’s madness must be true, when he re-
proached her for shutting him out of his own house ;
and x^nembering how he had protested all dinner-
time that he was not her husband, and had never
been in Ephesus till that day, she had no doubt
that he was mad ; she therefore paid the jailor the
money, and having"' discharged him, she ordered
her servants to bind her husband with ropes, and
had him conveyed into a dark room, and sent for
a doctor to come and cure him of his madness :
Antipholus all the while hotly exclaiming against this
false accusation, which the exact likeness he bore to his
brother had brought upon him. But his rage only the
more confirmed them in the belief that he was mad ;
and Dromio persisting in the same story, they bound
him also, and took him away along with his master.

Soon after Adriana had put her husband into con-
finement, a servant came to tell her that Antipholus
and Dromio must have broken loose from their
keepers, for that they were both walking at liberty
in the next street. On hearing this, Adriana ran
out to fetch him home, taking some people with her
to secure her husband again ; and her sister went
along with her. When they came to the gates of
a convent in their neighbourhood, there they saw
Antipholus and Dromio, as they thought, being again
deceived by the likeness of the twin-brothers.

Antipholus of Syracuse was still beset with the
perplexities this likeness had brought upon him.
The chain which the goldsmith had given him was
about his neck, and the goldsmith was reproaching
him for denying that he had it, and refusing to pay
for it, and Antipholus was protesting that the gold-
smith freely gave him the chain in the morning,
and that from that hour he had never seen the
goldsmith again.

The Comedy of Errors 197

And now Adriana came up to him and claimed
him as her lunatic husband, who had escaped from
his keepers ; and the men she brought with her
were going to lay violent hands on Antipholus
and Dromio ; but they ran into the convent, and
Antipholus begged the abbess to give him shelter
in her house.

And now came out the lady abbess herself to
inquire into the cause of this disturbance. She was
a grave and venerable lady, and wise to judge of
what she saw, and she would not too hastily give
up the man who had sought protection in her house ;
so she strictly questioned the wife about the story
she told of her husband’s madness, and she said,
^‘What is the cause of this sudden distemper of
your husband’s ? Has he lost his wealth at sea ?
Or is it the death of some dear friend that has
disturbed his mind ? ” Adriana replied, that no such
things as these had been the cause. Perhaps,”
said the abbess, “ he has fixed his affections on
some other lady than you his wife ; and that has
driven him to this state.” Adriana said she had
long thought the love of some other lady was the
cause of his frequent absences from home. Now
it was not his love for another, but the teasing
jealousy of his wife’s temper, that often obliged
Antipholus to leave his home ; and (the abbess
suspecting this from the vehemence of Adriana’s
manner) to learn the truth, she said, ^‘You should
have reprehended him for this.” — Why, so I did,”
replied Adriana. Ay,” said the abbess, but
perhaps not enough.” Adriana, willing to convince
the abbess that she had said enough to Antipholus
on this subject, replied, It was the constant subject
of our conversation : in bed I would not let him
sleep for speaking of it. At table I would not let
him eat for speaking of it. When I was alone with

p

ig8 Tales from Shakspeare

him, I talked of nothing else ; and in company I
gave him frequent hints of it. Still all my talk was
how vile and bad it was in him to love any lady
better than me.”

The lady abbess, having drawn this full con-
fession from the jealous Adriana, now said, ‘‘And
therefore comes it that your husband is mad. The
venomous clamour of a jealous woman is a more
deadly poison than a mad dog’s tooth. It seems
his sleep was hindered by your railing ; no wonder
that his head is light : and his meat was sauced
with your upbraidings ; unquiet meals make ill
digestions, and that has thrown him into this fever.
Y ou say his sports were disturbed by your brawls ;
being debarred from the enjoyment of society and
recreation, what could ensue but dull melancholy
and comfortless despair ? The consequence is then,
that your jealous fits have made your husband mad.”

Luciana would have excused her sister, saying,
she always reprehended her husband mildly ; and
she said to her sister, “ Why do you hear these
rebukes without answering them ? ” But the abbess
had made her so plainly perceive her fault, that she
could only answer, “She has betrayed me to my
own reproof.”

Adriana, though ashamed of her own conduct,
still insisted on having her husband delivered up
to her ; but the abbess would suffer no person to
enter her house, nor would she deliver up this un-
happy man to the care of the jealous wife, deter-
mining herself to use gentle means for his recovery,
and she retired into her house again, and ordered her
gates to be shut against them.

During the course of this eventful day, in which
so many errors had happened from the likeness the
twin brothers bore to each other, old iTgeon’s day
of grace was passing away, it being now near sunset ;

The Comedy of Errors 199

and at sunset he was doomed to die, if he could not
pay the money.

The place of his execution was near this convent,
and here he arrived just as the abbess retired into
the convent; the duke attending in person, that if
any offered to pay the money, he might be present
to pardon him.

Adriana stopped this melancholy procession, and
cried out to the duke for justice, telling him that
the abbess had refused to deliver up her lunatic
husband to her care. While she was speaking, her
real husband and his servant Dromio, who had got
loose, came before the duke to demand justice,
complaining that his wife had confined him on a
false charge of lunacy ; and telling in what manner
he had broken his bands, and eluded the vigilance
of his keepers. Adriana was strangely surprised to
see her husband, when she thought he had been
within the convent.

iEgeon, seeing his son, concluded this was the
son who had left him to go in search of his mother
and his brother ; and he felt secure that this dear
son would readily pay the money demanded for his
ransom. He therefore spoke to Antipholus in words
of fatherly affection, with joyful hope that he should
now be released. But to the utter astonishment of
iTgeon, his son denied all knowledge of him, as well
he might, for this Antipholus had never seen his
father since they were separated in the storm in his
infancy ; but while the poor old iTgeon was in vain
endeavouring to make his son acknowledge him,
thinking surely that either his griefs and the anxieties
he had suffered had so strangely altered him that his
son did not know him, or else that he was ashamed
to acknowledge his father in his misery ; in the midst
of this perplexity, the lady abbess and the other
Antipholus and Dromio came out, and the wondering

200 Tales from Shakspeare

Adriana saw two husbands and two Dromios standing
before her.

And now these riddling errors, which had so per-
plexed them all, were clearly made out. When the
duke. saw the two Antipholuses and the two Dromios
botti so exactly alike, he at once conjectured aright
of these seeming mysteries, for he remembered the
story JEgQon had told him in the morning ; and
he said, these men must be the two sons of iEgeon
and their twin slaves.

But now an unlooked-for joy indeed completed
the history of iEgeon ; and the tale he had in the
morning told in sorrow, and under sentence of death,
before the setting sun went down was brought to a
happy conclusion, for the venerable lady abbess made
herself known to be the long-lost wife of iEgeon,
and the fond mother of the two Antipholuses.

When the fishermen took the eldest Antipholus
and Dromio away from her, she entered a nunnery,
and by her wise and virtuous conduct, she was at
length made lady abbess of this convent, and in
discharging the rites of hospitality to an unhappy
stranger she had unknowingly protected her own
son.

Joyful congratulations and affectionate greetings
between these long separated parents and their
children made them for a while forget that ^Egeon
was yet under sentence of death ; but when they
were become a little calm, Antipholus of Ephesus
offered the duke the ransom money for his father’s
life ; but the duke freely pardoned iEgeon, and
would not take the money. And the duke went with
the abbess and her newly-found husband and children
into the convent, to hear this happy family discourse
at leisure of the blessed ending of their adverse for-
tunes. And the two Dromios’ humble joy must not
be forgotten ; they had their congratulations and

The Comedy of Errors 201

greetings too, and each Dromio pleasantly compli-
mented his brother on his good looks, being well
pleased to see his own person (as in a glass) show
so handsome in his brother.

Adriana had so well profited by the good counsel
of her mother-in-law, that she never after cherished
unjust suspicions, or was jealous of her husband.

Antipholus of Syracuse married the fair Luciana,
the sister of his brother’s wife ; and the good old
iEgeon, with his wife and sons, lived at Ephesus
many years. Nor did the unravelling of these per-
plexities so entirely remove every ground of mistake
for the future, but that sometimes, to remind them
of adventures past, comical blunders would happen,
and the one Antipholus, and the one Dromio, be
mistaken for the other, making altogether a pleasant
and diverting Comedy of Errors.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE

IN the city of Vienna there once reigned a duke
of such a mild and gentle temper, that he suffered
his subjects to neglect the laws with impunity ; and
there was in particular one law, the existence of
which was almost forgotten, the duke never having
put it in force during his whole reign. This was a
law dooming any man to the punishment of death,
who should live with a woman that was not his wife ;
and this law, through the lenity of the duke, being
utterly disregarded, the holy institution of marriage
became neglected, and complaints were every day
made to the duke by the parents of the young ladies
in Vienna, that their daughters had been seduced
from their protection, and were living as the com-
panions of single men.

The good duke perceived with sorrow this grow-
ing evil among his subjects ; but he thought that a
sudden change in himself from the indulgence he had
hitherto shown, to the strict severity requisite to
check this abuse, would make his people (who had
hitherto loved him) consider him as a tyrant ; there-
fore he determined to absent himself a while from his
dukedom, and depute another to the full exercise of
his power, that the law against these dishonourable
lovers might be put in effect, without giving offence
by an unusual severity in his own person.

Angelo, a man who bore the reputation of a saint
in Vienna for his strict and rigid life, was chosen by
the duke as a fit person to undertake this important
charge ; and when the duke imparted his design to
lord Escalus, his chief counsellor, Escalus said, “If

202

Measure for Measure 203

any man in Vienna be or worth to undergo such
ample grace and honour, it is lord Angelo.” And
now the duke departed from Vienna under pretence
of making a journey into Poland, leaving Angelo to
act as the lord deputy in his absence ; but the duke’s
absence was only a feigned one, for he privately
returned to Vienna, habited like a friar, with the
intent to watch unseen the conduct of the saintly-
seeming Angelo.

It happened just about the time that Angelo was
invested with his new dignity, that a gentleman,
whose name was Claudio, had seduced a young lady
from her parents ; and for this offence, by command
of the new lord deputy, Claudio was taken up and
committed to prison, and by virtue of the old law
which had been so long neglected, Angelo sentenced
Claudio to be beheaded. Great interest was made
for the pardon of young Claudio, and the good old
lord Escalus himself interceded for him. ‘‘ Alas,”
said he, ‘^this gentleman whom I would save had an
honourable father, for whose sake I pray you pardon
the young man’s transgression.” But Angelo replied,
‘‘We must not make a scare-crow of the law, setting
it up to frighten birds of prey, till custom, finding it
harmless, makes it their perch, and not their terror.
Sir, he must die.”

Lucio, the friend of Claudio, visited him in the
prison, and Claudio said to him, “ I pray you, Lucio,
do me this kind service. Go to my sister Isabel, who
this day proposes to enter the convent of Saint Clare ;
acquaint her with the danger of my state ; implore
her that she make friends with the strict deputy ; bid
her go herself to Angelo. I have great hopes in that ;
for she can discourse with prosperous art, and well
she can persuade ; besides, there is a speechless dialect
in youthful sorrow, such as moves men.”

Isabel, the sister of Claudio, had, as he said, that

204 Tales from Shakspeare

day entered upon her noviciate in the convent, and
it was her intent, after passing through her probation
as a novice, to take the veil, and she was inquiring of
a nun concerning the rules of the convent, when
they heard the voice of Lucio, who, as he entered
that religious house, said, Peace be in this place ! ”
— Who is it that speaks ? ” said Isabel. “ It is a
man’s voice,” replied the nun : Gentle Isabel, go
to him, and learn his business ; you may, I may not.
When you have taken the veil, you must not speak
with men but in the presence of the prioress ; then
if you speak you must not show your face, or if you
show your face, you must not speak.” — And have
you nuns no further privileges ? ” said Isabel. Are
not these large enough?” replied the nun. ‘‘Yes,
truly,” said Isabel : “ I speak not as desiring more,
but rather wishing a more strict restraint upon the
sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare.” Again they
heard the voice of Lucio, and the nun said, “ He
calls again. I pray you answer him.” Isabel then
went out to Lucio, and in answer to his salutation,
said, “ Peace and Prosperity ! Who is it that calls ? ”
Then Lucio, approaching her with reverence, said,
“ Hail, virgin, if such you be, as the roses on your
cheeks proclaim you are no less ! can you bring me
to the sight of Isabel, a novice of this place, and the
fair sister to her unhappy brother Claudio ? ” — “ Why
her unhappy brother ? ” said Isabel, “ let me ask ! for
I am that Isabel, and his sister.” — “ Fair and gentle
lady,” he replied, “ your brother kindly greets you by
me; he is in prison.” — “Woe is me! for what?”
said Isabel. Lucio then told her, Claudio was im-
prisoned for seducing a young maiden. “ Ah,” said
she, “ I fear it is my cousin Juliet.” Juliet and
Isabel were not related, but they called each other
cousin in remembrance of their school days’ friend-
ship ; and as Isabel knew that Juliet loved Claudio,

Measure for Measure 205

she feared she had been led by her affection for him
into this transgression. “She it is,” replied Lucio.
“ Why then, let my brother marry Juliet,” said Isabel.
Lucio replied that Claudio would gladly marry Juliet,
but that the lord deputy had sentenced him to die for
his offence ; “ Unless,” said he, “you have the grace
by your fair prayer to soften Angelo, and that is my
business between you and your poor brother.” —
“Alas!” said Isabel, “what poor ability is there in
me to do him good ? I doubt I have no power to
move Angelo.” — “Our doubts are traitors,” said
Lucio, “and make us lose the good we might often
win, by fearing to attempt it. Go to lord Angelo !
When maidens sue, and kneel, and weep, men give
like gods.” — “ I will see what I can do,” said Isabel :
“I will but stay to give the prioress notice of the
affair, and then I will go to Angelo. Commend me
to my brother : soon at night I will send him word
of my success.”

Isabel hastened to the palace, and threw herself
on her knees before Angelo, saying, “ I am a woful
suitor to your honour, if it will please your honour
to hear me.” — “Well, what is your suit?” said
Angelo. She then made her petition in the most
moving terms for her brother’s life. But Angelo
said, “ Maiden, there is no remedy ; your brother
is sentenced, and he must die.” — “O just, but
severe law,” said Isabel : “ I had a brother then
— Heaven keep your honour ! ” and she was about
to depart. But Lucio, who had accompanied her,
said, “ Give it not over so ; return to him again,
entreat him, kneel down before him, hang upon his
gown. You are too cold ; if you should need a
pin, you could not with a more tame tongue desire
it.” Then again Isabel on her knees implored for
mercy. “ He is sentenced,” said Angelo : “ it is
too late.” — “ Too late I ” said Isabel : “ Why, no :

2o6 Tales from Shakspeare

I that do speak a word may call it back again.
Believe this, my lord, no ceremony that to great
ones belongs, not the king’s crown, nor the deputed
sword, the marshal’s truncheon, nor the judge’s
robe, becomes them with one half so good a grace
as mercy does.” — Pray you begone,” said Angelo.
But still Isabel entreated ; and she said, “ If my
brother had been as you, and you as he, you might
have slipped like him, but he, like you, would not
have been so stern. I would to heaven I had your
power, and you were Isabel. Should it then be thus ?
No, I would tell you what it were to be a judge,
and what a prisoner.” — ‘‘ Be content, fair maid ! ” said
Angelo : it is the law, not I, condemns your brother.
Were he my kinsman, my brother, or my son, it
should be thus with him. He must die to-morrow.”
— ‘‘To-morrow?” said Isabel ; “Oh, that is sudden :
spare him, spare him ; he is not prepared for death.
Even for our kitchens we kill the fowl in season ;
shall we serve Heaven with less respect than we
minister to our gross selves ? Good, good, my lord,
bethink you, none have died for my brother’s offence,
though many have committed it. So you would be
the first that gives this sentence, and he the first
that suffers it. Go to your own bosom, my lord ;
knock there, and ask your heart what it does know
that is like my brother’s fault ; if it confess a natural
guiltiness such as his is, let it not sound a thought
against my brother’s life ! ” Her last words more
moved Angelo than all she had before said, for the
beauty of Isabel had raised a guilty passion in his
heart, and he began to form thoughts of dishonour-
able love, such as Claudio’s crime had been ; and
the conflict in his mind made him to turn away from
Isabel ; but she called him back, saying, “ Gentle
my lord, turn back ; hark, how I will bribe you.
Good my lord, turn back ! ” — “ How, bribe me ! ”

Measure for Measure 207

said Angelo, astonished that she should think of
offering him a bribe. Ay,” said Isabel, with such
gifts that Heaven itself shall share with you ; not
with golden treasures, or those glittering stones,
whose price is either rich or poor as fancy values
them, but with true prayers that shall be up to
Heaven before sunrise, — prayers from preserved souls,
from fasting maids whose minds are dedicated to
nothing temporal.” — ‘‘Well, come to me to-morrow,”
said Angelo. And for this short respite of her
brother’s life, and for this permission that she might
be heard again, she left him with the joyful hope
that she should at last prevail over his stern nature :
and as she went away she said, “ Heaven keep your
honour safe ! Heaven save your honour ! ” Which
when Angelo heard, he said within his heart,
“ Amen, I would be saved from thee and from thy
virtues : ” and then, affrighted at his own evil
thoughts, he said, “ W^hat is this ? W^hat is this ?
Do I love her, that I desire to hear her speak again,
and feast upon her eyes ? W^hat is it I dream on ?
The cunning enemy of mankind, to catch a saint,
with saints does bait the hook. Never could an
immodest woman once stir my temper, but this
virtuous woman subdues me quite. Even till now,
when men were fond, I smiled and wondered at

them.” ^ ^

In the guilty conflict in his mind Angelo suffered
more that night than the prisoner he had so severely
sentenced ; for in the prison Claudio was visited by
the good duke, who, in his friar’s habit, taught the
young man the way to heaven, preaching to him the
words of penitence and peace. But Angelo felt all
the pangs of irresolute guilt : now wishing to seduce
Isabel from the paths of innocence and honour, and
now suffering remorse and horror for a crime as yet
but intentional. But in the end his evil thoughts

2o8 Tales from Shakspeare

prevailed ; and he who had so lately started at the
offer of a bribe, resolved to tempt this maiden with
so high a bribe, as she might not be able to resist,
even with the precious gift of her dear brother’s
life.

When Isabel came in the morning, Angelo de-
sired she might be admitted alone to his presence :
and being there, he said to her, if she would yield*
to him her virgin honour and transgress even as
Juliet had done with Claudio, he would give her
her brother’s life; “For,” said he, “I love you,
Isabel.” — “ My brother,” said Isabel, “ did so love
Juliet, and yet you tell me he shall die for it.” —
“ But,” said Angelo, “ Claudio shall not die, if
you will consent to visit me by stealth at night,
even as Juliet left her father’s house at night to
come to Claudio.” Isabel, in amazement at his words,
that he should tempt her to the same fault for which
he passed sentence upon her brother, said, “ I would
do as much for my poor brother as for myself ; that
is, were I under sentence of death, the impression of
keen whips I would wear as rubies, and go to my
death as to a bed that longing I had been sick for, ere
I would yield myself up to this shame.” And then
she told him, she hoped he only spoke these words- to
try her virtue. But he said, “Believe me, on my
honour, my words express my purpose.” Isabel,
angered to the heart to hear him use the word
Honour to express such dishonourable purposes, said,
“ Ha ! little honour to be much believed ; and most
pernicious purpose. I will proclaim thee, Angelo,
look for it ! Sign me a present pardon for my
brother, or I will tell the world aloud what man
thou art ! ” — “ Who will believe you, Isabel ? ” said
Angelo ; “ my unsoiled name, the austereness of my
life, my word vouched against yours, will outweigh
your accusation. Redeem your brother by yielding

Measure for Measure 209

to my will, or he shall die to-morrow. As for you,
say what you can, my false will overweigh your true
story. Answer me to-morrow.”

‘‘ To whom should I complain ? Did I tell this,
who would be. ieve me ? ” said Isabel, as she went
towards the dreary prison where her brother was
confined. When she arrived there, her brother was
in pious conversation with the duke, who in his
friar’s habit had also visited Juliet, and brought both
these guilty lovers to a proper sense of their fault ;
and unhappy Juliet with tears and a true remorse
confessed that she was more to blame than Claudio,
in that she willingly consented to his dishonourable
solicitations.

As Isabel entered the room where Claudio was
confined, she said, Peace be here, grace, and good
company ! ” — “ Who is there ? ” said the disguised
duke ; come in ; the wish deserves a welcome.” —
“ My business is a word or two with Claudio,” said
Isabel. Then the duke left them together, and
desired the provost, who had the charge of the
prisoners, to place him where he might overhear their
conversation.

“ Now, sister, what is the comfort ?” said Claudio.
Isabel told him he must prepare for death on the
morrow. “ Is there no remedy ? ” said Claudio.
— “ Y es, brother,” replied Isabel, there is ; but
such a one, as if you consented to it would strip
your honour from you, and leave you naked.” — Let
me know the point,” said Claudio. O, I do fear
you, Claudio ! ” replied his sister ; “ and I quake,
lest you should wish to live, and more respect the
trifling term of six or seven winters added to your
life, than your perpetual honour ! Do you dare to
die ? The sense of death is most in apprehension,
and the poor beetle that we tread upon, feels a pang
as great as when a giant dies.” ‘‘Why do you

210 Tales from Shakspeare

give me this shame ? ” said Claudio. Think you
I can fetch a resolution from flowery tenderness ?
If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride,
and hug it in my arms.” — ‘‘ Th ;re spoke my
brother,” said Isabel; “there my fanner’s grave did
utter forth a voice. Yes, you must die ; yet would
you think it, Claudio ! this outward sainted deputy,
if I would yield to him my virgin honour, would
grant your life. O, were it but my life, I would lay
it down for your deliverance as frankly as a pin ! ”
— “Thanks, dear Isabel,” said Claudio. “Be
ready to die to-morrow,” said Isabel. “ Death is a
fearful thing,” said Claudio. “And shamed life a
hateful,” replied his sister. But the thoughts of
death now overcame the constancy of Claudio’s
temper, and terrors, such as the guilty only at their
deaths do know, assailing him, he cried out, “ Sweet
sister, let me live ! The sin you do to save a
brother’s life, nature dispenses with the deed so far,
that it becomes a virtue.” — “ O faithless coward !
O dishonest wretch ! ” said Isabel ; “ would you
preserve your life by your sister’s shame ? O fie, fie,
fie ! I thought, my brother, you had in you such
a mind of honour, that had you twenty heads to
render up on twenty blocks, you would have yielded
them up all, before your sister should stoop to such
dishonour.” “ Nay, hear me, Isabel ! ” said Claudio.
But what he would have said in defence of his
weakness, in desiring to live by the dishonour of his
virtuous sister, was interrupted by the entrance of the
duke ; who said, “ Claudio, I have overheard what
has passed between you and your sister. Angelo had
never the purpose to corrupt her ; what he said, has
only been to make trial of her virtue. She having
the truth of honour in her, has given him that
gracious denial which he is most glad to receive.
There is no hope that he will pardon you ; therefore

Measure for Measure 21 1

pass your hours in prayer, and make ready for death.”
Then Claudio repented of his weakness, and said,

Let me ask my sister’s pardon ! I am so out of love
with life, that I will sue to be rid of it.” And
Claudio retired, overwhelmed with shame and sorrow
for his fault.

The duke being now alone with Isabel, com-
mended her virtuous resolution, saying, “The hand
that made you fair, has made you good.” — “ O,”
said Isabel, “ how much is the good duke deceived
in Angelo ! if ever he return, and I can speak to
him, I will discover his government.” Isabel knew
not that she was even now making the discovery
she threatened. The duke replied, “That shall
not be much amiss ; yet as the matter now stands,
Angelo will repel your accusation ; therefore lend an
attentive ear to my advisings. I believe that you
may most righteously do a poor wronged lady a
merited benefit, redeem your brother from the angry
law, do no stain to your own most gracious person,
and much please the absent duke, if peradventure
he shall ever return to have notice of this business.”
Isabel said, she had a spirit to do anything he desired,
provided it was nothing wrong. “Virtue is bold,
and never fearful,” said the duke : and then he asked
her, if she had ever heard of Mariana, the sister of
Frederick, the great soldier who was drowned at sea.
“I have heard of the lady,” said Isabel, “and good
words went with her name.” — “This lady,” said the
duke, “is the wife of Angelo; but her marriage
dowry was on board the vessel in which her brother
perished, and mark how heavily this befell to the poor
gentlewoman ! for, beside the loss of a most noble
and renowned brother, who in his love towards her
was ever most kind and natural, in the wreck of her
fortune she lost the affections of her husband, the
well-seeming Angelo; who pretending to discover

212 Tales from Shakspeare

some dishonour in this honourable lady (though the
true cause was the loss of her dowry) left her in her
tears, and dried not one of them with his comfort.
His unjust unkindness, that in all reason should have
quenched her love, has, like an impediment in the
current, made it more unruly, and Mariana loves her
cruel husband with the full continuance of her first
affection.” The duke then more plainly unfolded
his plan. It was, that Isabel should go to lord
Angelo, and seemingly consent to come to him as he
desired at midnight ; that by this means she would
obtain the promised pardon ; and that Mariana
should go in her stead to the appointment, and pass
herself upon Angelo in the dark for Isabel. Nor,
gentle daughter,” said the feigned friar, ‘‘fear you
to do this thing ; Angelo is her husband, and to
bring them thus together is no sin.” Isabel being
pleased with this project, departed to do as he
directed her ; and he went to apprise Mariana of
their intention. He had before this time visited this
unhappy lady in his assumed character, giving her
religious instruction and friendly consolation, at
which times he had learned her sad story from her
own lips ; and now she, looking upon him as a holy
man, readily consented to be directed by him in this
undertaking.

When Isabel returned from her interview with
Angelo, to the house of Mariana, where the duke
had appointed her to meet him, he said, “Well
met, and in good time ; what is the news from this
good deputy ? ” Isabel related the manner in which
she had settled the affair. “ Angelo,” said she,
“has a garden surrounded with a brick wall, on
the western side of which is a vineyard, and to that
vineyard is a gate.” And then she showed to the
duke and Mariana two keys that Angelo had given
her ; and she said, “ This bigger key opens the vine-

Measure for Measure

213

yard gate ; this other a little door which leads from
the vineyard to the garden. There I have made my
promise at the dead of the night to call upon him,
and have got from him his word of assurance for my
brother s life. I have taken a due and wary note of
the place ; and with whispering and most guilty
diligence he showed me the way twice over.” — ‘‘ Are
there no other tokens agreed upon between you,
that Mariana must observe said the duke. “ No,
none,” said Isabel, “only to go when it is dark.
I have told him my time can be but short ; for I
have made him think a servant comes along with
me, and that this servant is persuaded I come about
my brother.” The duke commended her discreet
management, and she, turning to Mariana, said,
“ Little have you to say to Angelo, when you depart
from him, but soft and low, Remember now my
brother / ”

Mariana was that night conducted to the appointed
place by Isabel, who rejoiced that she had, as she
supposed, by this device preserved both her brother’s
life and her own honour. But that her brother’s
life was safe the duke was not well satisfied, and
therefore at midnight he again repaired to the prison,
and it was well for Claudio that he did so, else would
Claudio have that night been beheaded ; for soon
after the duke entered the prison, an order came from
the cruel deputy, commanding that Claudio should
be beheaded, and his head sent to him by five o’clock
in the morning. But the duke persuaded the provost
to put off the execution of Claudio, and to deceive
Angelo, by sending him the head of a man who died
that morning in the prison. And to prevail upon
the provost to agree to this, the duke, whom still the
provost suspected not to be anything more or greater
than he seemed, showed the provost a letter written
with the duke’s hand, and sealed with his seal, which

Q

214 Tales from Shakspeare

when the provost saw, he concluded this friar must
have some secret order from the absent duke, and
therefore he consented to spare Claudio ; and he cut
off the dead man’s head, and carried it to Angelo.

Then the duke in his own name, wrote to Angelo
a letter, saying, that certain accidents had put a
stop to his journey, and that he should be in Vienna
by the following morning, requiring Angelo to meet
him at the entrance of the city, there to deliver up
his authority ; and the duke also commanded it to
be proclaimed, that if any of his subjects craved
redress for injustice, they should exhibit their petitions
in the street on his first entrance into the city.

Early in the morning Isabel came to the prison,
and the duke, who there awaited her coming, for
secret reasons thought it good to tell her that Claudio
was beheaded ; therefore when Isabel inquired if
Angelo had sent the pardon for her brother, he said,
‘‘ Angelo has released Claudio from this world. His
head is off, and sent to the deputy.” The much-
grieved sister cried out, “ O unhappy Claudio,
wretched Isabel, injurious world, most wicked
Angelo ! ” The seeming friar bid her take comfort,
and when she was become a little calm, he acquainted
her with the near prospect of the duke’s return, and
told her in what manner she should proceed in pre-
ferring her complaint against Angelo ; and he bade
her not fear if the cause should seem to go against
her for a while. Leaving Isabel sufficiently instructed,
he next went to Mariana, and gave her counsel in
what manner she also should act.

Then the duke laid aside his friar’s habit, and in
his own royal robes, amidst a joyful crowd of his
faithful subjects, assembled to greet his arrival,
entered the city of Vienna, where he was met by
Angelo, who delivered up his authority in the proper
form. And there came Isabel, in the manner of a

Measure for Measure 215

petitioner for redress, and said, ‘^Justice, most royal
duke ! I am the sister of one Claudio, who, for the
seducing a young maid, was condemned to lose his
head. I made my suit to lord Angelo for my
brother’s pardon. It were needless to tell your grace
how I prayed and kneeled, how he repelled me, and
how I replied ; for this was of much length. The
vile conclusion I now begin with grief and shame to
utter. Angelo would not but by my yielding to his
dishonourable love release my brother ; and after much
debate within myself, my sisterly remorse overcame
my virtue, and I did yield to him. But the next
morning betimes, Angelo, forfeiting his promise, sent
a warrant for my poor brother’s head ! ” The duke
affected to disbelieve her story ; and Angelo said
that grief for her brother’s death, who had suffered
by the due course of the law, had disordered her
senses. And now another suitor approached, which
was Mariana ; and Mariana said, Noble prince,
as there comes light from heaven, and truth from
breath, as there is sense in truth and truth in
virtue, I am this man’s wife, and, my good lord,
the words of Isabel are false ; for the night she says
she was with Angelo, I passed that night with him
in the garden-house. As this is true, let me in
safety rise, or else for ever be fixed here a marble
monument.” Then did Isabel appeal for the truth
of what she had said to friar Lodowick, that being
the name the duke had assumed in his disguise.
Isabel and Mariana had both obeyed his instruc-
tions in what they said, the duke intending that
the innocence of Isabel should be plainly proved
in that public manner before the whole city of
Vienna ; but Angelo little thought that it was
from such a cause that they thus differed in their
story, and he hoped from their contradictory evidence
to be able to clear himself from the accusation of

2i6 Tales from Shakspeare

Isabel ; and he said, assuming the look of offended
innocence, I did but smile till now ; but, good my
lord, my patience here is touched, and I perceive
these poor distracted women are but the instru-
ments of some greater one, who sets them on.
Let me have way, my lord, to find this practice
out.” — “Ay, with all my heart,” said the duke,
^‘and punish them to the height of your pleasure.
You, lord Escalus, sit with lord Angelo, lend him
your pains to discover this abuse ; the friar is sent
for that set them on, and when he comes, do with
your injuries as may seem best in any chastise-
ment. I for a while will leave you, but stir not
you, lord Angelo, till you have well determined
upon this slander.” The duke then went away,
leaving Angelo well pleased to be deputed judge
and umpire in his own cause. But the duke was
absent only while he threw off his royal robes and
put on his friar’s habit ; and in that disguise again
he presented himself before Angelo and Escalus :
and the good old Escalus, who thought Angelo had
been falsely accused, said to the supposed friar,
‘‘ Come, sir, did you set these women on to slander
lord Angelo ? ” He replied, Where is the duke ?
It is he who should hear me speak.” Escalus said.
The duke is in us, and we will hear you. Speak
justly.” — “Boldly at least,” retorted the friar; and
then he blamed the duke for leaving the cause of Isabel
in the hands of him she had accused, and spoke so
freely of many corrupt practices he had observed, while,
as he said, he had been a looker-on in Vienna, that
Escalus threatened him with the torture for speaking
words against the state, and for censuring the conduct
of the duke, and ordered him to be taken away to
prison. Then, to the amazement of all present, and to
the utter confusion of Angelo, the supposed friar threw
off his disguise, and they saw it was the duke himself.

Measure for Measure 217

The duke first addressed Isabel. He said to her,
“ Come hither, Isabel. Your friar is now your prince,
but with my habit I have not changed my heart. I
am still devoted to your service.” O give me
pardon,” said Isabel, that I, your vassal, have
employed and troubled your unknown sovereignty.”
He answered that he had most need of forgiveness
from her, for not having prevented the death of her
brother — for not yet would he tell her that Claudio
was living ; meaning first to make a further trial of
her goodness. Angelo now knew the duke had been
a secret witness of his bad deeds, and he said, “ O my
dread lord, I should be guiltier than my guiltiness, to
think I can be undiscernible, when I perceive your
grace, like power divine, has looked upon my actions.
Then, good prince, no longer prolong my shame,
but let my trial be my own confession. Immediate
sentence and death is all the grace I beg.” The duke
replied, “ Angelo, thy faults are manifest. We do
condemn thee to the very block where Claudio stooped
to death ; and with like haste away with him ; and
for his possessions, Mariana, we do instate and widow
you withal, to buy you a better husband.” — O my
dear lord,” said Mariana, ‘‘ I crave no other, nor no
better man : ” and then on her knees, even as Isabel
had begged the life of Claudio, did this kind wife of an
ungrateful husband beg the life of Angelo ; and she said.
Gentle my liege, O good my lord ! Sweet Isabel, take
my part ! Lend me your knees, and all my life to come
I will lend you all my life, to do you service ! ”
The duke said, Against all sense you importune
her. Should Isabel kneel down to beg for mercy,
her brother’s ghost would break his paved bed, and
take her hence in horror.” Still Mariana said, “ Isabel,
sweet Isabel, do but kneel by me, hold up your hand,
say nothing ! I will speak all. They say, best men
are moulded out of faults, and for the most part

2i8 Tales from Shakspeare

become much the better for being a little bad. So
may my husband. Oh, Isabel, will you not lend a
knee ? ” The duke then said, ‘‘ He dies for Claudio.”
But much pleased was the good duke, when his own
Isabel, from whom he expected all gracious and
honourable acts, kneeled down before him, and said.
Most bounteous sir, look, if it please you, on this
man condemned, as if my brother lived. I partly
think a due sincerity governed his deeds, till he did
look on me. Since it is so, let him not die ! My
brother had but justice, in that he did the thing for
which he died.”

The duke, as the best reply he could make to this
noble petitioner for her enemy’s life, sending for
Claudio from his prison-house, where he lay doubtful
of his destiny, presented to her this lamented brother
living ; and he said to Isabel, Give me your hand,
Isabel ; for your lovely sake I pardon Claudio. Say
you will be mine, and he shall be my brother too.”
By this time lord Angelo perceived he was safe ;
and the duke, observing his eye to brighten up a
little, said, ‘‘Well, Angelo, look that you love your
wife ; her worth has obtained your pardon : joy to you,
Mariana ! Love her, Angelo ! I have confessed her,
and know her virtue.” Angelo remembered, when
dressed in a little brief authority, how hard his heart
had been, and felt how sweet is mercy.

The duke commanded Claudio to marry Juliet,
and offered himself again to the acceptance of Isabel,
whose virtuous and noble conduct had won her
prince’s heart. Isabel, not having taken the veil, was
free to marry; and the friendly offices, while hid
under the disguise of a humble friar, which the noble
duke had done for her, made her with grateful joy
accept the honour he offered her; and when she
became duchess of Vienna, the excellent example of
the virtuous Isabel worked such a complete reform-

Measure for Measure 219

ation among the young ladies of that city, that from
that time none ever fell into the transgression of
Juliet, the repentant wife of the reformed Claudio.
And the mercy-loving duke long reigned with his
beloved Isabel, the happiest of husbands and of
princes.

TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL

Sebastian and his sister VioIa, a young gentle-
man and lady of MessalinCy were twins^ and
(which was accounted a great wonder) from their
birth they so much resembled each other, that, but
for the difference in their dress, they could not be
known apart. They were both born in one hour,
and in one hour they were both in danger of perish-
ing, for they were shipwrecked on the coast of Illyria,
as they were making a sea-voyage together. The
ship, on board of which they were, split on a rock
in a violent storm, and a very small number of the
ship’s company escaped with their lives. The captain
of the vessel, with a few of the sailors that were
saved, got to land in a small boat, and with them
they brought Viola safe on shore, where she, poor
lady, instead, of rejoicing at her own deliverance,
began to lament her brother’s loss ; but the captain
comforted her with the assurance that he had seen
her brother, when the ship split, fasten himself to a
strong mast, on which, as long as he could see any-
thing of him for the distance, he perceived him borne
up above the waves. Viola was much consoled by
the hope this account gave her, and now considered
how she was to dispose of herself in a strange country,
so far from home ; and she asked the captain if he
knew anything of Illyria. Ay, very well, madam,”
replied the captain, for I was born not three hours’
travel from this place.” — Who governs here ? ” said
Viola. The captain told her, Illyria was governed
by Orsino^ a duke noble in narure as welf as dignity.

221

Twelfth Night

Viola said, she had heard her father speak of Orsino,
and that he was unmarried then. ‘‘And he is so .
now,*’ said the captain ; “or was so very lately, for/
but a month ago, I went from here, and then it was
the general talk (as you know what great ones do,
the people will prattle of) that. Orsino sought the.
love of fair Olivia, a virtuous maid, the daughter of a
count who died twelve months ago, leaving Olivia
to the protection of her brother, who shortly after
died also ; and for the love of this dear brother,
they say, she has abjured the sight and company
of men.” Viola, who was herself in such a sad
affliction for her brother’s loss, wished she could
live with this lady, who so tenderly mourned a
brother’s death. She asked the captain if he could
introduce her to Olivia, saying she would willingly
serve this lady. But he replied, this would be a hard
thing to accomplish, because the Lady Olivia would
admit no person into her house since her brother’s
death, not even the duke himself. Then_Viol^
formed another project_in 1^ which was, in

a man’s habit, to serve the duke Orsino as a page.
It was a strange fancy in a young lady to put on
male attire, and pass for a boy^; but the forlorn and
unprotected state of Viola, who was young and of
uncommon beauty, alone, and in a foreign land, must
plead her excuse.

She having observed a fair behaviour in the captain,
and that he showed a friendly concern for her wel-
fare, entrusted him with her design, and he readily
engaged to assist her. Viola gave him money, and
‘directed him to furnish her with suitable apparel,
ordering her clothes to be made of the same colour
and in the same fashion her brother Sebastian used
to wear, and when she was dressed in her manly
garb, she looked so exactly like her brother that some
strange errors happened by means of their being

222 Tales from Shakspeare

mistaken for each other; for, as will afterwards
appear, Sebastian was also saved.

Viola’s ^ood friend, the captain^ when he had
transformed this pretty lady into a gentleman, having
some interest at court, got her presented to Orsino
under the feigned name of Cesario. The duke was
wonderfully pleased with the address and graceful
deportment of this handsome youth, and made Cesario
one of his pages, that being the office Viola wished
to obtain : and she so well fulfilled the duties of her
new station, and showed such a ready observance and
faithful attachment to her lord, that she soon became
his most favoured attendant. To-^^e§ar io _Q rsino^
confided the wiiole history nf JikJ ihe lady

Ulma. To Cesario he told the long and unsuccess-
ful suit he had made to one who, rejecting his long
services, and despising his person, refused to admit
him to her presence ; and for the love of this lady
who had so unkindly treated him, the noble Orsino,
forsaking the sports of the field and all manly exercises
in which he used to delight, passed his hours in
ignoble sloth, listening to the effeminate sounds of
soft music, gentle airs, and passionate love-songs ;
and neglecting the company of the wise and learned
lords with whom he used to associate, he was now
all day long conversing with young Cesario. Un-
meet companion no doubt his grave courtiers thought
Cesario was for their once noble master, the great
duke Orsino.

It is a dangerous matter for young maidens to be
the confidants of handsome young dukes ; which
Viola too soon found to her sorrow, for all that
Orsino told her he endured for Olivia, she presently
perceived she suffered for the love of him ; and much
it moved her v/onder, that Olivia could be so regard-
less of this her peerless lord and master, whom she
thought no one could behold without the deepest

223

Twelfth Night

admiration, and she ventured gently to hint to Orsino,
that it was a pity he should affect a lady who was so
blind to his worthy qualities; and she said, If a
lady were to love you, my lord, as you love Olivia
(and perhaps there may be one who does), if you
could not love her in return, would you not tell her
that you could not love, and must she not be content
with this answer?” But Orsino would not admit
of this reasoning, for he denied that it was possible
for any woman to love as he did. He said, no
woman’s heart was big enough to hold so much love,
and therefore it was unfair to compare the love of
any lady for him, to his love for Olivia. Now,
though Viola had the utmost deference for the duke’s
opinions, she could not help thinking this was not
quite true, for she thought her heart had full as much
love in it as Orsino’s had ; and she said, Ah, but I
know, my lord.” — ‘^What do you know, Cesario r ”
said Orsino. Too well I know,” replied Viola,
what love women may owe to men. They are as
true of heart as we are. My father had a daughter
loved a man, as I perhaps, were I a woman, should
love your lordship.” — And what is her history ? ”
said Orsino. “A blank, my lord,” replied Viola:

she never told her love, but let concealment, like a
worm in the bud, feed on her damask cheek. She
pined in thought, and with a green and yellow
melancholy, she sat like Patience on a monument,
smiling at Grief.” The duke inquired if this lady
died of her love, but to this question Viola returned
an evasive answer ; as probably she had feigned the
story, to speak words expressive of the secret love
and silent grief she suffered for Orsino.

While they were talking, a gentleman entered
whom the duke had sent to Olivia, and he said.
So please you, my lord, I might not be admitted
to the lady, but by her handmaid she returned you

224 Tales from Shakspeare

this answer : Until seven years hence, the element
itself shall not behold her face ; but like a cloistress
she will walk veiled, watering her chamber with her
tears for the sad remembrance of her dead brother.”
On hearing this, the duke exclaimed, “ O she that
has a heart of this fine frame, to pay this debt of love
to a dead brother, how will she love, when the rich
golden shaft has touched her heart ! ” And then he
said to Viola, ‘‘You know, Cesario, I have told you
all the secrets of my heart ; therefore, good youth,
go to Olivia’s house. Be not denied access ; stand
at her doors, and tell her, there your fixed foot shall
grow till you have audience.” — “ And if I do speak
to her, my lord, what theni*” said Viola. “O
then;” replied Orsino, “unfold to her the passion of
my love. Make a long discourse to her of my dear
faith. It will well become you to act my woes, for
she will attend more to you than to one of graver
aspect.”

Away then went Viola ; but not willingly did she
undertake this courtship, for she was to woo a lady
to become a wife to him she wished to marry : but
having^ undertaken the affair, she performed it with
fidelity ; and Olivia soon heard that a youth was
at her door who insisted upon being admitted to
her presence. “ I told him,” said the servant, “ that
you were sick : he said he knew you were, and
therefore he came to speak with you. I told him
that you were asleep : he seemed to have a fore-
knowledge of that too, and said, that therefore he
must speak with you. What is to be said to him,
lady ? for he seems fortified against all denial, and
will speak with you, whether you will or no.”
Olivia, curious to see who this peremptory messenger
might be, desired he might be admitted ; and throw-
ing her veil over her face, she said she would once
more hear Orsino’s embassy, not doubting but that

Twelfth Night 225

he came from the duke, by his importunity. Viola,
entering, put on the most manly air she could assume,
and affecting the fine courtier language of great men’s
pages, she said to the veiled lady, Most radiant,
exquisite, and matchless beauty, I pray you tell me
if you are the lady of the house ; for I should be
sorry to cast away my speech upon another ; for
besides that it is excellently well penned, I have taken
great pains to learn it.” — “ Whence come you, sir ? ”
said Olivia. “ I can say little more than I have
studied,” replied Viola; ‘‘and that question is out
of my part.” — “Are you a comedian ?” said Olivia.
“No,” replied Viola; “and yet I am not that
which I play ; ” meaning that she, being a woman,
feigned herself to be a man. And again she asked
Olivia if she were the lady of the house. Olivia
said she was; and then Viola, having more curiosity
to see her rival’s features, than haste to deliver her
master’s message, said, “ Good madam, let me see
your face.” With this bold request Olivia was not
averse to comply ; for this haughty beauty, whom
the duke Orsino had loved so long in vain, at first
sight conceived a passion for the supposed page, the
humble Cesario.

When Viola asked to see her face, Olivia said,
“ Have you any commission from your lord and
master to negotiate with my face ? ’ And then,
forgetting her determination to go veiled for seven
long years, she drew aside her veil, saying, “ But I
will draw the curtain and show the picture. Is it
not well done ? ” Viola replied, “ It is beauty truly
mixed ; the red and white upon your cheeks is by
Nature’s own cunning hand laid on. You are the
most cruel lady living, if you will lead these graces to
the grave, and leave the world no copy. ‘ O, sir,
replied Olivia, “ I will not be so cruel. The world
^ may have an inventory of my beauty. As, item^ two

226 Tales from Shakspeare

lips, indifferent red ; item^ two grey eyes, with lids
to them ; one neck ; one chin ; and so forth. Were
you sent here to praise me ?” Viola replied, ‘‘ I see
what you are : you are too proud, but you are fair.
My lord and master loves you. O such a love could
but be recompensed, though you were crowned the
queen of beauty : for Orsino loves you with adoration
and with tears, with groans that thunder love, and
sighs of fire.” — ‘‘Your lord,” said Olivia, “knows
well my mind. I cannot love him ; yet I doubt not
he is virtuous ; I know him to be noble and of high
estate, of fresh and spotless youth. All voices pro-
claim him learned, courteous, and valiant ; yet I
cannot love him, he might have taken his answer
long ago.” — “ If I did love you as my master does,”
said Viola, “ I would make me a willow cabin at
your gates, and call upon your name, I would write
complaining sonnets on Olivia, and sing them in the
dead of the night ; your name should sound among
the hills, and I would make Echo, the babbling
gossip of the air, cry out Olivia, O you should not
rest between the elements of earth and air, but you
should pity me.” — “You might do much,” said
Olivia: “what is your parentage ? ” Viola replied,
“ Above my fortunes, yet my state is well. I am a
gentleman.” Olivia now reluctantly dismissed Viola,
saying, “ Go to your master, and tell him, I cannot
love him. Let him send no more, unless perchance
you come again to tell me how he takes it.” And
Viola departed, bidding the lady farewell by the
name of Fair Cruelty. When she was gone, Olivia
repeated the words. Above my fortunes^ yet my state is
well I am a gentleman. And she said aloud, “ I
will be sworn he is ; his tongue, his face, his limbs,
action, and spirit, plainly show he is a gentleman.”
And then she wished Cesario was the duke ; and
perceiving the fast hold he had taken on her affec-

Twelfth Night 227

tions, she blamed herself for her sudden love : but
the gentle blame which people lay upon their own
faults has no deep root ; and presently the noble lady
Olivia so far forgot the inequality between her
fortunes and those of this seeming page, as well as
the maidenly reserve which is the chief ornament of
a lady’s character, that she resolved to goiirt the Invp
^ young Cesario, and sent a servant after him with
a diamond ring, under the pretence that he had left
it with her as a present from Orsino. She hoped by
thus artfully making Cesario a present of the ring,
she should give him some intimation of her design ;
and truly it did make Viola suspect ; for knowing
that Orsino had sent no ring by her, she began to
recollect that Olivia’s looks and manner were ex-
pressive of admiration, and she presently guessed her
master’s mistress had fallen in love with her. ^‘Alas,”
said she, the poor lady might as well love a dream.
Disguise I see is wicked, for it has caused Olivia to
breathe as fruitless sighs for me as I do for Orsino.”

Viola returned to Orsino’s palace, and related to
her lord the ill success of the negotiation, repeating
the command of Olivia, that the duke should trouble
her no more. Yet still the duke persisted in hoping
that the gentle Cesario would in time be able to
persuade her to show some pity, and therefore he
bade him he should go to her again the next day.
In the mean time, to pass away the tedious interval,
he commanded a song which he loved to be sung ;
and he said, ‘‘My good Cesario, when I heard that
song last night, methought it did relieve my passion
much. Mark it, Cesario, it is old and plain. The

spinsters and the knitters when they sit in the

sun, and the young maids that weave their thread
;with bone, chant this song. It is silly, yet I love

it, for it tells of the innocence of love in the old

times.”

228 Tales from Shakspeare

SONG

Come away, come away, Death,

And in sad cypress let me be laid ;

Fly away, fly away, breath,

I am slain by a fair cruel maid.

My shroud of white stuck all with yew, O prepare it I
My part of death no one so true did share it.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet.

On my black coffin let there be strewn :

Not a friend, not a friend greet

My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown
A thousand thousand sighs to save, lay me O where
Sad true lover never find my grave, to weep there I

Viola did not fail to mark the words of the old
song, which in such true simplicity described the
pangs of unrequited love, and she bore testimony in
her countenance of feeling what the song expressed.
Her sad looks were observed by Orsino, who said to
her, “My life upon it, Cesario, though you are s6
young, your eye has looked upon some face that it
loves : has it not, boy ? ” — “ A little, with your
leave,” replied Viola. “ And what kind of woman,
and of what age is she ? ” said Orsino. “ Of your
age and of your complexion, my lord,” said Viola ;
which made the duke smile to hear this fair young
boy loved a woman so much older than himself, and
of a man’s dark complexion ; but Viola secretly
meant Orsino, and not a woman like him.

When Viola made her second visit to Olivia, she
found no difficulty in gaining access to her. Servants
soon discover when their ladies delight to converse
with handsome young messengers ; and the instant
Viola arrived, the gates were thrown wide open,
and the duke’s page was shown into Olivia’s apart-
ment with great respect ; and when Viola told
Olivia that she was come once more to plead in
her lord’s behalf, this lady said, “ I desired you
never to speak of him again ; but if you would
undertake another suit, I had rather hear you solicit,

Twelfth Night 229

than music from the spheres.” This was pretty
plain speaking, but Olivia soon explained herself
still more plainly, and openly confessed her love ;
and when she saw displeasure with perplexity ex-
pressed in Viola’s face, she said, “O what a deal
of scorn looks beautiful in the contempt and anger
of his lip ! Cesario, by the roses of the spring, by
maidhood, honour, and by truth, I love you so,
that, in spite of your pride, I have neither wit nor
reason to conceal my passion.” But in vain the
lady wooed ; Viola hastened from her presence,
threatening neveMpore to come to plead Orsino’s
love ; and all the reply she made to Olivia’s fond
solicitation was, a declaration of a resolution Never to
love any woman. "

No sooner had Viola left the lady than a claim
was made upon her valour. A gentleman, a rejected
suitor of Olivia, who had learned how that lady had
favoured the duke’s messenger, challenged him to
fight a duel. What should poor Viola do, who,
though she carried a manlike outside, had a true
woman’s heart, and feared to look on her own
sword ?

When she saw her formidable rival advancing
towards her with his sword drawn, she began to
think of confessing that she was a woman ; but she
was relieved at once from her terror, and the shame
of such a discovery, by a stranger that was passing
by, who made up to them, and as if he had been
long known to her, and were her dearest friend, said
to her opponent, If this young gentleman has done
offence, I will take the fault on me ; and if you
offend him, I will for his sake defy you.” Before
Viola had time to thank him for his protection, or to
inquire the reason of his kind interference, her new
friend met with an enemy where his bravery was of
no use to him ; for the officers of justice coming up

R

230 Tales from Shakspeare

in that instant, apprehended the stranger in the duke’s
name, to answer for an offence he had committed
some years before: and he said to Viola, ‘‘This
comes with seeking you ; ” and then he asked her
for a purse, saying, “ Now my necessity makes me
ask for my purse, and it grieves me much more for
what I cannot do for you, than for what befalls my-
self. You stand amazed, but be of comfort.” His
words did indeed amaze Viola, and she protested she
knew him not, nor had ever received a purse from
him ; but for the kindness he had just shown her,
she offered him a small sum of money, being nearly
the whole she possessed. And now the stranger
spoke severe things, charging her with ingratitude
and unkindness. He said, “ This youth, whom you
see here, I snatched from the jaws of death, and for
his sake alone I came to Illyria, and have fallen into
this danger.” But the officers cared little for hearken-
ing to the complaints of their prisoner, and they
hurried him off, saying, “ What is that to us ? ”
And as he was carried away, he called Viola by the
naime of Sebastian, reproaching the supposed bebastiah
for disowning his friend, as long as he was within
hearing. When Viola heard herself called Sebastian,
though the stranger was taken away too hastily for
her to ask an explanation, she conjectured that this
seeming mystery might arise from her being mistaken
for her brother ; and (she began to cherish hopes that
it was her brother whose life this man said he had
preserved. And so indeed it was. The stranger,
whose name was Antonjo, was a sea-cap tatn^ He
had taken ^eba^Tan up into his ship, when, Almost
exhausted with fatigue, he was floating on the mast
to which he had fastened himself in the storm.
Antonio conceived such a friendship for Sebastian,
that.he resolved to accompany him whithersoever he
wentj; and when the youth expressed a curiosity to

She began to think of confessing that she was a woman.

Twelfth Night 231

visit Orsino’s court, Antonio, rather than part from
him, came to Illyria, though he knew, i.if his person
should be known there, his life would ^e in danger,
because in a sea-fight he had ^nce dangerously
wounded the duke Orsino’s nephe^^ This was the
offence for which he was now made a prisoner.

Antonio and Sebastian had landed together but
a few hours before Antonio met Viola. He had
given his purse to Sebastian, desiring him to use it
freely if he saw anything he wished to purchase,
telling him he would wait at the inn, while Sebastian
went to view the town ; but Sebastian not returning
at the time appointed, Antonio had ventured out to
look for him, and Viola being dressed the same, and in
face so exactly resembling her brother, Antonio drew
his sword (as he thought) in defence of the youth he
had saved, and when Sebastian (as he supposed) dis-
owned him, and denied him his own purse, no wonder
he accused him of ingratitude.

Viola, when Antonio was gone, fearing a second
invitation to fight, slunk home as fast as she could. ^
She had not been long gone, when her adversary
thought he saw her return ; but it was her brother
Sebastian, who happened to arrive at this place, and
he said, Now, sir, have I met with you again ?
There’s for you ; ” and struck him a blow. Sebastian
was no coward ; he returned the blow with interest,
and drew his sword.

A lady now put a stop to this duel, for Olivja
came out of the house, and she too mistaking Sebas-
tian for Cesario, invited him to come into her house,
expressing much sorrow at the rude attack he had
met with. Though Sebastian was as much surprised
at the courtesy of this lacly as at the rudeness of his
unknown foe, yet he went very willingly into the
house, and Olivia was delighted to find Cesario (as
she thought him) become more sensible of her

232 Tales from Shakspeare

attentions ; for though their features were exactly the
same, there was none of the contempt and anger to
be seen in his face, which she had complained of when
she told her love to Cesario.

Sebastian did not at all object to the fondness
the lady lavished on him. He seemed to take it in
very good part, yet he wondered how it had come
to pass, and he was rather inclined to think Olivia
was not in her right senses ; but perceiving that she
was mistress of a fine house, and that she ordered
her affairs and seemed to govern her family dis-
creetly, and that in all but her sudden love for him
she appeared in the full possession of her reason, he
well approved of the courtship ; and Olivia finding
Cesafio in thi^ good humoufTand Teann^ he might
change his mind, proposed that, as she had a priest in
the house, they should be instantly married. Sebas-
tian assented to this proposaT;~and when tfie marriage
ceremony was over, he left his lady for a short time,
intending to go and tell his friend Antonio the good
fortune that he had met with. In the meantime
Orsino came to visit Olivia : and at the moment he
arrived before Olivia’s house, the officers of justice
brought their prisoner, Antonio, before the duke.
Viola was with Orsino, her master ; and when
Antonio saw Viola, whom he still imagined to be
Sebastian, he told the duke in what manner he had
rescued this youth from the perils of the sea ; and
after fully relating all the kindness he had really
shown to Sebastian, he ended his complaint with
saying, that for three months, both day and night,
this ungrateful youth had been with him. But now
the lady Olivia coming forth from her house, the
duke could no longer attend to Antonio’s story ; and
he said, “ Here comes the countess : now Heaven
walks on earth ! but for thee, fellow, thy words are
madness. Three months has this youth attended on

Twelfth Night 233

me : ” and then he ordered Antonio to be taken aside.
But Orsino’s heavenly countess soon gave the duke
cause to accuse Cesario as much of ingratitude as
Antonio had done, for all the words he could hear
Olivia speak were words of kindness to Cesario :
and when he found his page had obtained this high
place in Olivia’s favour, he threatened him with all
the terrors of his just revenge ; and as he was going
to depart, he called Viola to follow him, saying,
“ Come, boy, with me. My thoughts are ripe for
mischief.” Though it seemed in his jealous rage he
was going to doom Viola to instant death, yet her
love made her no longer a coward, and she said she
would most joyfully suffer death to give her master
ease. But Olivia would not so lose her husband, and
she cried, “Where goes my Cesario?” Viola re-
plied, “ After him I love more than my life.” Olivia,
however, prevented their departure by loudly pro-
claiming that Cesario was her husband, and sent for
the priest, who declared that not two hours had passed
since he had married the lady Olivia to this young
man. In vain Viola protested she was not married
to Olivia ; the evidence of that lady and the priest
made Orsino believe that his page had robbed him of
the treasure he prized above his life. But thinking
that it was past recall, he was bidding farewell to his
faithless mistress, and the young dissembler^ her husband,
as he called Viola, warning her never to come in his
sight again, when (as it seemed to them) a miracle
appeared ! for another Cesario entered, and addressed
Olivia as his wife. This new Cesario was Sebastian,
the real husband of Olivia ; and when their wonder
had a little ceased at seeing two persons with the same
face, the same voice, and the same habit, the brother
and sister began to question each other ; for Viola
could scarce be persuaded that her brother was living,
and Sebastian knew not how to account for the sister

234 Tales from Shakspeare

he supposed drowned being found in the habit of a
young man. But Viola presently acknowledged
that she was indeed Viola, and his sister, under that
disguise.

‘When all the errors were cleared up which the
extreme likeness between this twin brother and
sister had occasioned, they laughed at the lady
Olivia for the pleasant mistake she had made in
falling in love with a woman ; and Olivia showed
no dislike to her exchange, when she found she had
wedded the brother instead of the sister.

The hopes of Orsino were for ever at an end by
this marriage of Olivia, and with his hopes, all his
fruitless love seemed to vanish away, and all his
thoughts were fixed on the event of his favourite,
young Cesario, being changed into a fair lady. He
viewed Viola with great attention, and he remem-
bered how very handsome he had always thought
Cesario was, and he concluded she would look very
beautiful in a woman’s attire ; and then he remem-
bered how often she had said she loved him^ which
at the time seemed only the dutiful expressions of a
faithful page ; but now he guessed that something
more was meant, for many of her pretty sayings,
which were like riddles to him, came now into his
mind, and he no sooner remembered all these things
than he resolved to make Viola his wife; and he
said to her (he still could not help calling her Cesario
and hoy\ Boy, you have said to me a thousand
times that you should never love a woman like to
me, and for the faithful service you have done for
me so much beneath your soft and tender breeding,
and since you have called me master so long, you
shall now be your master’s mistress, and Orsino’s
true duchess.”

Olivia, perceiving Orsino was making over that
heart, which she had so ungraciously rejected, to

Twelfth Night 235

Viola, invited them to enter her house, and offered
the assistance of the good priest, who had married
her to Sebastian in the morning, to perform the
same ceremony in the remaining part of the day for
Orsino and Viola. Thus the twin brother and sister
were both wedded on the same day ; the storm and
shipwreck, which had separated them, being the
means of bringing to pass their high and mighty
fortunes. Viola was the wife of Orsino, the duke
of Illyria, and Sebastian the husband of the rich and
noble countess, the lady Olivia.

TIMON OF ATHENS

TIMON5 a lord of Athens, in the enjoyment of
a princely fortune, affected a humour of
liberality which knew no limits. His almost infinite
wealth could not flow in so fast, but he poured it
out faster upon all sorts and degrees of people.
Not the poor only tasted of his bounty, but great
lords did not disdain to rank themselves among his
dependants and followers. His table was resorted to
by all the luxurious feasters, and his house was open
to all comers and goers at Athens. His large wealth
combined with his free and prodigal nature to
subdue all hearts to his love ; men of all minds and
dispositions tendered their services to lord Timon,
from the glass-faced flatterer, whose face reflects as
in a mirror the present humour of his patron, to
the rough and unbending cynic, who affecting a
contempt of men’s persons, and an indifference to
worldly things, yet could not stand out against the
gracious manners and’ munificent soul of lord Timon,
but would come (against his nature) to partake of
his royal entertainments, and return most rich in his
own estimation if he had received a nod or a
salutation from Timon.

If a poet had composed a work which wanted a
recommendatory introduction to the world, he had
no more to do but to dedicate it to lord Timon,
and the poem was sure of sale, besides a present
purse from the patron, and daily access to his house
and table. If a painter had a picture to dispose
of, he had only to take it to lord Timon, and

236

Timon of Athens 237

pretend to consult his taste as to the merits of it ;
nothing more was wanting to persuade the liberal-
hearted lord to buy it. If a jeweller had a stone
of price, or a mercer rich costly stuiFs, which for
their costliness lay upon his hands, lord Timon’s
house was a ready mart always open, where they
might get off their wares or their jewellery at any
price, and the good-natured lord would thank them
into the bargain, as if they had done him a piece
of courtesy in letting him have the refusal of such
precious commodities. So that by this means his
house was thronged with superfluous purchases, of
no use but to swell uneasy and ostentatious pomp ;
and his person was still more inconveniently beset
with a crowd of these idle visitors, lying poets,
painters, sharking tradesmen, lords, ladies, needy
courtiers, and expectants, who continually filled his
lobbies, raining their fulsome flatteries in whispers
in his ears, sacrificing to him with adulation as to
a God, making sacred the very stirrup by which he
mounted his horse, and seeming as though they
drank the free air but through his permission and
bounty.

Some of these daily dependants were young men
of birth, who (their means not answering to their
extravagance) had been put in prison by creditors,
and redeemed thence by lord Timon ; these young
prodigals thenceforward fastened upon his lordship,
as if by common sympathy he were necessarily
endeared to all such spendthrifts and loose livers,
who, not being able to follow him in his wealth,
found it easier to copy him in prodigality and
copious spending of what was their own. One
of these flesh-flies was Ventidius, for whose debts,
unjustly contracted, Timon but lately had paid
down the sum of five talents.

But among this confluence, this great flood of

238 Tales from Shakspeare

visitors, none were more conspicuous than the makers
of presents and givers of gifts. It was fortunate for
these men if Timon took a fancy to a dog or a
horse, or any piece of cheap furniture which was
theirs. The thing so praised, whatever it was,
was sure to be sent the next morning with the com-
pliments of the giver for lord Timon’s acceptance,
and apologies for the unworthiness of the gift ; and
this dog or horse, or whatever it might be, did not
fail to produce from Timon’s bounty, who would
not be outdone in gifts, perhaps twenty dogs or
horses, certainly presents of far richer worth, as
these pretended donors knew well enough, and that
their false presents were but the putting out of so
much money at large and speedy interest. In this
way lord Lucius had lately sent to Timon a present
of four milk-white horses, trapped in silver, which
this cunning lord had observed Timon upon some
occasion to commend ; and another lord, Lucullus,
had bestowed upon him in the same pretended way
of free gift a brace of greyhounds, whose make
and fleetness Timon had been heard to admire ;
these presents the easy-hearted lord accepted with-
out suspicion of the dishonest views of the pre-
senters ; and the givers of course were rewarded
with some rich return, a diamond or some jewel of
twenty times the value of their false and mercenary
donation.

Sometimes these creatures would go to work in
a more direct way, and with gross and palpable
artifice, which yet the credulous Timon was too
blind to see, would affect to admire and praise some-
thing that Timon possessed, a bargain that he had
bought, or some late purchase, which was sure to
draw from this yielding and soft-hearted lord a
gift of the thing commended, for no service in the
world done for it but the easy expense of a little

Timon of Athens 239

cheap and obvious flattery. In this way Timon
but the other day had given to one of these mean
lords the bay courser which he himself rode upon,
because his lordship had been pleased to say that
it was a handsome beast and went well ; and
Timon knew that no man ever justly praised what
he did not wish to possess. For lord Timon
weighed his friends’ affection with his own, and so
fond was he of bestowing, that he could have dealt
kingdoms to these supposed friends, and never have
been weary.

Not that Timon’s wealth all went to enrich these
wicked flatterers ; he could do noble and praise-
worthy actions ; and when a servant of his once
loved the daughter of a rich Athenian, but could
not hope to obtain her by reason that in wealth
and rank the maid was so far above him, lord
Timon freely bestowed upon his servant three
Athenian talents, to make his fortune equal with
the dowry which the father of the young maid
demanded of him who should be her husband.
But for the most part, knaves and parasites had
the command of his fortune, false friends whom he
did not know to be such, but, because they flocked
around his person, he thought they must needs love
him ; and because they smiled and flattered him,
he thought surely that his conduct was approved
by all the wise and good. And when he was
feasting in the midst of all these flatterers and mock
friends, when they were eating him up, and draining
his fortunes dry with large draughts of richest wines
drunk to his health and prosperity, he could not
perceive the difference of a friend from a flatterer,
but to his deluded eyes (made proud with the
sight) it seemed a precious comfort to have so many
like brothers commanding one another’s fortunes
(though it was his own fortune which paid all the

240 Tales from Shakspeare

costs), and with joy they would run over at the
spectacle of such, as it appeared to him, truly festive
and fraternal meeting.

But while he thus outwent the very heart of
kindness, and poured out his bounty, as if Plutus,
the god of gold, had been but his steward ; while
thus he proceeded without care or stop, so senseless
of expense that he would neither inquire how he
could maintain it, nor cease his wild flow of riot ;
his riches, which were not infinite, must needs melt
away before a prodigality which knew no limits.
But who should tell him so ? his flatterers ? they had
an interest in shutting his eyes. In vain did his
honest steward Flavius try to represent to him his
condition, laying his accounts before him, begging
of him, praying of him, with an importunity that on
any other occasion would have been unmannerly in
a servant, beseeching him with tears to look into
the state of his affairs. Timon would still put him
off, and turn the discourse to something else ; for
nothing is so deaf to remonstrance as riches turned
to poverty, nothing is so unwilling to believe its
situation, nothing so incredulous to its own true
state, and hard to give credit to a reverse. Often
had this good steward, this honest creature, when
all the rooms of Timon’s great house have been
choked up with riotous feeders at his master’s cost,
when the floors have wept with drunken spilling of
wine, and every apartment has blazed with lights
and resounded with music and feasting, often had
he retired by himself to some solitary spot, and
wept faster than the wine ran from the wasteful
casks within, to see the mad bounty of his lord,
and to think, when the means were gone which
brought him praises from all sorts of people, how
quickly the breath would be gone of which the
praise was made ; praises won in feasting would be

Timon of Athens 241

lost in fasting, and at one cloud of winter-showers
these flies would disappear.

But now the time was come that Timon could
shut his ears no longer to the representations of this
faithful steward. Money must be had ; and when
he ordered Flavius to sell some of his land for that
purpose, Flavius informed him, what he had in vain
endeavoured at several times before to make him
listen to, that most of his land was already sold or
forfeited, and that all he possessed at present was
not enough to pay the one half of what he owed.
Struck with wonder at this presentation, Timon
hastily replied, ^‘My lands extend from Athens to
Lacedaemon.” O my good lord,” said Flavius,
the world is but a world, and has bounds ; were
it all yours to give in a breath, how quickly were
it gone ! ”

Timon consoled himself that no villanous bounty
had yet come from him, that if he had given his
wealth away unwisely, it had not been bestowed to
feed his vices, but to cherish his friends ; and he
bade the kind-hearted steward (who was weeping)
to take comfort in the assurance that his master
could never lack means, while he had so many noble
friends ; and this infatuated lord persuaded himself
that he had nothing to do but to send and borrow,
to use every man’s fortune (that had ever tasted his
bounty) in this extremity, as freely as his own.
Then with a cheerful look, as if confident of the
trial, he severally despatched messengers to lord
Lucius, to lords Lucullus and Sempronius, men upon
whom he had lavished his gifts in past times without
measure or moderation ; and to Ventidius, whom he
had lately released out of prison by paying his debts,
and who, by the death of his father, was now come
into the possession of an ample fortune, and well
enabled to requite Timon’s courtesty : to request

242 Tales from Shakspeare

ofVentidius the return of those five talents which
he had paid for him, and of each of those noble lords
the loan of fifty talents ; nothing doubting that their
gratitude would supply his wants (if he needed it)
to the amount of five hundred times fifty talents.

Lucullus was the first applied to. This mean
lord had been dreaming overnight of a silver bason
and cup, and when Timon’s servant was announced,
his sordid mind suggested to him that this was surely
a making out of his dream, and that Timon had
sent him such a present : but when he understood
the truth of the matter, and that Timon wanted
money, the quality of his faint and watery friendship
showed itself, for with many protestations he vowed
to the servant that he had long foreseen the ruin of
his master’s affairs, and many a time had he come
to dinner to tell him of it, and had come again to
supper to try to persuade him to spend less, but he
would take no counsel nor warning by his coming :
and true it was that he had been a constant attender
(as he said) at Timon’s feasts, as he had in greater
things tasted his bounty ; but that he ever came
with that intent, or gave good counsel or reproof to
Timon, was a base unworthy lie, which he suitably
followed up with meanly offering the servant a bribe,
to go home to his master and tell him that he had
not found Lucullus at home.

As little success had the messenger who was sent
to lord Lucius. This lying lord, who was full of
Timon’s meat, and enriched almost to bursting with
Timon’s costly presents, when he found the wind
changed, and the fountain of so much bounty sud-
denly stopped, at first could hardly believe it ; but
on its being confirmed, he affected great regret that he
should not have it in his power to serve lord Timon,
for unfortunately (which was a base falsehood) he
had made a great purchase the day before, which had

Timon of Athens

243

quite disfurnished him or the means at present, the
more beast he, he called himself, to put it out of his
power to serve so good a friend ; and he counted it
one of his greatest afflictions that his ability should
fail him to pleasure such an honourable gentleman.

Who can call any man friend that dips in the
same dish with him ? just of this metal is every
flatterer. In the recollection of everybody Timon
had been a father to this Lucius, had kept up his
credit with his purse ; Timon’s money had gone to
pay the wages of his servants, to pay the hire of the
labourers who had sweat to build the fine houses
which Lucius’s pride had made necessary to him :
yet, oh ! the monster which man makes himself
when he proves ungrateful ! this Lucius now denied
to Timon a sum, which, in respect of what Timon
had bestowed on him, was less than charitable men
afford to beggars.

Sempronius, and every one of these mercenary
lords to whom Timon applied in their turn, returned
the same evasive answer or direct denial ; even
Ventidius, the redeemed and now rich Ventidius,
refused to assist him with the loan of those five
talents which Timon had not lent but generously
given him in his distress.

Now was Timon as much avoided in his poverty
as he had been courted and resorted to in his riches.
Now the same tongues which had been loudest in
his praises, extolling him as bountiful, liberal, and
open handed, were not ashamed to censure that very
bounty as folly, that liberality as profuseness, though
it had shown itself folly in nothing so truly as in
the selection of such unworthy creatures as them-
selves for its objects. Now was Timon’s princely
mansion forsaken, and become a shunned and hated
place, a place for men to pass by, not a place, as
formerly, where every passenger must stop and taste

s

244 Tales from Shakspeare

of his wine and good cheer ; now, instead of being
thronged with feasting and tumultuous guests, it was
beset with impatient and clamorous creditors, usurers,
extortioners, fierce and intolerable in their demands,
pleading bonds, interest, mortgages ; iron-hearted
men that would take no denial nor putting off, that
Timon’s house was now his jail, which he could not
pass,, nor go in nor out for them ; one demanding
his due of fifty talents, another bringing in a bill of
five thousand crowns, which if he would tell out
his blood by drops, and pay them so, he had not
enough in his body to discharge, drop by drop. ^
In this desperate and irremediable state (as it
seemed) of his affairs, the eyes of all men were
suddenly surprised at a new and incredible lustre
which this setting sun put forth. Once more lord
Timon proclaimed a feast, to which he invited his
accustomed guests, lords, ladies, all that was great or
fashionable in Athens. Lord Lucius and Lucullus
came, Ventidius, Sempronius, and the rest. Who
more sorry now than these fawning wretches, when
they found (as they thought) that lord Timon’s
poverty was all pretence, and had been only put
on to make trial of their loves, to think that they
should not have seen through the artifice at the time,
and have had the cheap credit of obliging his lord-
ship ? yet who more glad to find the fountain of that
noble bounty, which they had thought dried up, still
fresh and running ? They came dissembling, pro-
testing, expressing deepest sorrow and shame, that
when his lordship sent to them, they should have
been so unfortunate as to want the present means to
oblige so honourable a friend. But Timon begged
them not to give such trifles a thought, for he had
altogether forgotten it. And these base fawning
lords, though they had denied him money in his
adversity, yet could not refuse their presence at this

Timon of Athens 245

new blaze of his returning prosperity. For the
swallow follows not summer more willingly than
men of these dispositions follow the good fortunes
of the great, nor more willingly leaves winter than
these shrink from the first appearance of a reverse ;
such summer birds are men. But now with music
and state the banquet of smoking dishes was served
up ; and when the guests had a little done admiring
whence the bankrupt Timon could find means to
furnish so costly a feast, some doubting whether the
scene which they saw was real, as scarce trusting
their own eyes ; at a signal given, the dishes were
uncovered, and Timon’s drift appeared : instead of
those varieties and far-fetched dainties which they
expected, that Timon’s epicurean table in past times
had so liberally presented, now appeared under the
covers of these dishes a preparation more suitable to
Timon’s poverty, nothing but a little srnoke and
lukewarm water, fit feast for this knot of mouth-
friends, whose professions were indeed smoke, and
their hearts lukewarm and slippery as the water with
which Timon welcomed his astonished guests, bidding
them, “Uncover, dogs, and lap;” and before they
could recover their surprise, sprinkling it in their
faces, that they might have enough, and throwing
dishes and all after them, who now ran huddling out,
lords, ladies, with their caps snatched up in haste, a
splendid confusion, Timon pursuing them, still calling
them what they were, “smooth smiling parasites,
destroyers under the mask of courtesy, affable wolves,
meek bears, fools of fortune, feast-friends, time-flies.”
They, crowding out to avoid him, left the house
more willingly than they had entered it ; some losing
their gowns and caps, and some their jewels in the
hurry, all glad to escape out of the presence of such
a mad lord, and from the ridicule of his mock
banquet.

246 Tales from Shakspeare

This was the last feast which ever Timon made,
and in it he took farewell of Athens and the society
of men ; for, after that, he betook himself to the
woods, turning his back upon the hated city and
upon all mankind, wishing the walls of that detest-
able city might sink, and the houses fall upon their
owners, wishing all plagues which infest humanity,
war, outrage, poverty, diseases, might fasten upon
its inhabitants, praying the just gods to confound all
Athenians, both young and old, high and low ; so
wishing, he went to the woods, where he said he
should find the unkindest beast much kinder than
mankind. He stripped himself naked, that he might
retain no fashion of a man, and dug a cave to live in,
and lived solitary in the manner of a beast, eating the
wild roots, and drinking water, flying from the face
of his kind, and choosing rather to herd with wild
beasts, as more harmless and friendly than man.

What a change from lord Timon the rich, lord
Timon the delight of mankind, to Timon the naked,
Timon the man-hater ! Where were his flatterers
now ? Where were his attendants and retinue ?
Would the bleak air, that boisterous servitor, be his
chamberlain, to put his shirt on warm ? Would
those stiff trees that had outlived the eagle, turn
young and airy pages to him, to skip on his errands
when he bade them ? Would the cool brook, when
it was iced with winter, administer to him his warm
broths and caudles when sick of an overnight’s surfeit ?
Or would the creatures that lived in those wild woods
come and lick his hand and flatter him ?

Here on a day, when he was digging for roots, his
poor sustenance, his spade struck against something
heavy, which proved to be gold, a great heap which
some miser had probably buried in a time of alarm,
thinking to have come again, and taken it from its
prison, but died before the opportunity had arrived.

Timon of Athens

247

without making any man privy to the concealment ;
so it lay, doing neither good nor harm, in the bowels
of the earth, its mother, as if it had never come from
thence, till the accidental striking of Timon’s spade
against it once more brought it to light.

Here was a mass of treasure which, if Timon had
retained his old mind, was enough to have purchased
him friends and flatterers again ; but Timon was
sick of the false world, and the sight of gold was
poisonous to his eyes ; and he would have restored
it to the earth, but that, thinking of the infinite
calamities which by means of gold happen to man-
kind, how the lucre of it causes robberies, oppression,
injustice, briberies, violence, and murder, among men,
he had a pleasure in imagining (such a rooted hatred
did he bear to his species) that out of this heap, which
in digging he had discovered, might arise some
mischief to plague mankind. And some soldiers
passing through the woods near to his cave at that
instant, which proved to be a part of the troops of
the Athenian captain Alcibiades, who upon some
disgust taken against the senators of Athens (the
Athenians were ever noted to be a thankless and
ungrateful people, giving disgust to their generals
and best friends), was marching at the head of the
same triumphant army which he had formerly headed
in their defence, to war against them ; Timon, who
liked their business well, bestowed upon their captain
the gold to pay his soldiers, requiring no other service
from him, than that he should with his conquering
army lay Athens level with the ground, and burn,
slay, kill all her inhabitants ; not sparing the old men
for their white beards, for (he said) they were usurers,
nor the young children for their seeming innocent
smiles, for those (he said) would live, if they grew up,
to be traitors ; but to steel his eyes and ears against
any sights or sounds that might awaken compassion ;

248 Tales from Shakspeare

and not to let the cries of virgins, babes, or mothers,
hinder him from making one universal massacre of
the city, but to confound them all in his conquest ;
and when he had conquered, he prayed that the
gods would confound him also, the conqueror : so
thoroughly did Timon hate Athens, Athenians, and
all mankind.

While he lived in this forlorn state, leading a life
more brutal than human, he was suddenly surprised
one day with the appearance of a man standing in
an admiring posture at the door of his cave. It
was Flavius, the honest steward, whom love and
zealous affection to his master had led to seek him
out at his wretched dwelling, and to offer his
services ; and the first sight of his master, the once
noble Timon, in that abject condition, naked as he
was born, living in the manner of a beast among
beasts, looking like his own sad ruins and a monu-
ment of decay, so affected this good servant, that
he stood speechless, wrapped up in horror, and con-
founded. And when he found utterance at last to
his words, they were so choked with tears, that
Timon had much ado to know him again, or to
make out who it was that had come (so contrary to
the experience he had had of mankind) to offer him
service in extremity. And being in the form and
shape of a man, he suspected him for a traitor, and
his tears for false ; but the good servant by so many
tokens confirmed the truth of his fidelity, and made
it clear that nothing but love and zealous duty to
his once dear master had brought him there, that
Timon was forced to confess that the world con-
tained one honest man ; yet, being in the shape and
form of a man, he could not look upon his man’s
face without abhorrence, or hear words uttered from
his man’s lips without loathing ; and this singly
honest man was forced to depart, because he was a

Timon of Athens 249

man, and because, with a heart more gentle and com-
passionate than is usual to man, he bore man’s detested
form and outward feature.

But greater visitants than a poor steward were
about to interrupt the savage quiet of Timon’s
solitude. For now the day was come when the
ungrateful lords of Athens sorely repented the in-
justice which they had done to the noble Timon.
For Alcibiades, like an incensed wild boar, was
raging at the walls of their city, and with his hot
siege threatened to lay fair Athens in the dust.
And now the memory of lord Timon’s former
prowess and military conduct came fresh into their
forgetful minds, for Timon had been their general
in past times, and a valiant and expert soldier, who
alone of all the Athenians was deemed able ' to cope
with a besieging army such as then threatened
them, or to drive back the furious approaches of
Alcibiades.

A deputation of the senators was chosen in this
emergency to wait upon Timon. To him they
come in their extremity, to whom, when he was in
extremity, they had shown but small regard ; as if
they presumed upon his gratitude whom they had
disobliged, and had derived a claim to his courtesy
from their own most discourteous and unpiteous
treatment.

Now they earnestly beseech him, implore him
with tears, to return and save that city, from which
their ingratitude had so lately driven him ; now they
offer him riches, power, dignities, satisfaction for
past injuries, and public honours, and the public
love ; their persons, lives, and fortunes, to be at his
disposal, if he will but come back and save them.
But Timon the naked, Timon the man-hater, was
no longer lord Timon, the lord of bounty, the flower
of valour, their defence in war, their ornament in

250 Tales from Shakspeare

peace. If Alcibiades killed his countrymen, Timon
cared not. If he sacked fair Athens, and slew her
old men and her infants, Timon would rejoice. So
he told them ; and that there was not a knife in
the unruly camp which he did not prize above the
reverendest throat in Athens.

This was all the answer he vouchsafed to the
weeping disappointed senators ; only at parting he
bade them commend him to his countrymen, and
tell them, that to ease them of their griefs and
anxieties, and to prevent the consequences of fierce
Alcibiades’ wrath, there was yet a way left, which
he would teach them, for he had yet so much affec-
tion left for his dear countrymen as to be willing
to do them a kindness before his death. These
words a little revived the senators, who hoped that
his kindness for their city was returning. Then
Timon told them that he had a tree, which grew
near his cave, which he should shortly have occasion
to cut down, and he invited all his friends in Athens,
high or low, of what degree soever, who wished to
shun affliction, to come and take a taste of his tree
before he cut it down ; meaning, that they might
come and hang themselves on it, and escape affliction
that way.

And this was the last courtesy, of all his noble
bounties, which Timon showed to mankind, and this
the last sight of him which his countrymen had : for
not many days after, a poor soldier, passing by the
sea-beach, which was at a little distance from the
woods which Timon frequented, found a tomb on
the verge of the sea, with an inscription upon it,
purporting that it was the grave of Timon the man-
hater, who While he lived, did hate all living men,
and dying wished a plague might consume all caitiffs
left ! ”

Whether he finished his lire by violence, or whether

Timon of Athens

251

mere distaste of life and the loathing he had for man-
kind brought Timon to his conclusion, was not clear,
yet all men admired the fitness of his epitaph, and
the consistency of his end ; dying, as he had lived, a
hater of mankind : and some there were who fancied
a conceit in the very choice which he had made of
the sea-beach for his place of burial, where the vast
sea might weep for ever upon his grave, as in contempt
of the transient and shallow tears of hypocritical and
deceitful mankind.

ROMEO AND JULIET

HE two chief families in Verona were the rich

1 Capulets and the Montagues. There had
been an old quarrel between these families, which
was grown to such a height, and so deadly was the
enmity between them, that it extended to the
remotest kindred, to the followers and retainers of
both sides, insomuch that a servant of the house of
Montague could not meet a servant of the house
of Capulet, nor a Capulet encounter with a Mon-
tague by chance, but fierce words and sometimes
bloodshed ensued ; and frequent were the brawls
from such accidental meetings, which disturbed the
happy quiet of Verona’s streets.

Old lord Capulet made a great supper, to which
many fair ladies and many noble guests were invited.
All the admired beauties of Verona were present,
and all comers were made welcome if they were
not of the house of Montague. At this feast of
Capulets, Rosaline, beloved of Romeo, son to the
old lord Montague, was present ; and though it
was dangerous for a Montague to be seen in this
assembly, yet Benvolio, a friend of Romeo, per-
suaded the young lord to go to this assembly in
the disguise of a mask, that he might see his
Rosaline, and seeing her, compare her with some
choice beauties of Verona, who (he said) would
make him think his swan a crow. Romeo had
small faith in Benvolio’s words ; nevertheless, for
the love of Rosaline, he was persuaded to go. For
Romeo was a sincere and passionate lover, and one

252

Romeo and Juliet 253

that lost his sleep for love, and fled society to be
alone, thinking on Rosaline, who disdained him,
and never requited his love, with the least show of
courtesy or alfection; and Benvolio wished to cure
his friend of this love by showing him diversity of
ladies and company. To this feast of Capulets
then young Romeo with Benvolio and their friend
Mercutio went masked. Old Capulet bid them
welcome, and told them that ladies who had their
toes unplagued with corns would dance with them.
And the old man was light hearted and merry, and
said that he had worn a mask when he was young,
and could have told a whispering tale in a fair
lady’s ear. And they fell to dancing, and Romeo
was suddenly struck with the exceeding beauty of
a lady who danced there, who seemed to him to
teach the torches to burn bright, and her beauty to
show by night like a rich jewel worn by a black-
amoor ; beauty too rich for use, too dear for earth !
like a snowy dove trooping with crows (he said),
so richly did her beauty and perfections shine
above the ladies her companions. While he uttered
these praises, he was overheard by Tybalt, a
nephew of lord Capulet, who knew him by his
voice to be Romeo. And this Tybalt, being of
a fiery and passionate temper, could not endure
that a Montague should come under cover of a
mask, to fleer and scorn (as he said) at their
solemnities. And he stormed and raged exceed-
ingly, and would have struck young Romeo dead.
But his uncle, the old lord Capulet, would not
suffer him to do any injury at that time, both out
of respect to his guests, and because Romeo had
borne himself like a gentleman, and all tongues in
Verona bragged of him to be a virtuous and well-
governed youth. Tybalt, forced to be patient
against his will, restrained himself, but swore that

254 Tales from Shakspeare

this vile Montague should at another time dearly
pay for his intrusion.

The dancing being done, Romeo watched the
place where the lady stood ; and under favour of
his masking habit, which might seem to excuse
in part the liberty, he presumed in the gentlest
manner to take her by the hand, calling it a shrine,
which if he profaned by touching it, he was a
blushing pilgrim, and would kiss it for atonement.

Good pilgrim,” answered the lady, your devotion
shows by far too mannerly and too courtly : saints
have hands, which pilgrims may touch, but kiss
not.” — Have not saints lips, and pilgrims too ? ”
said Romeo. -^.y,” said the lady, lips which
they must use in prayer.” — O then, my dear
saint,” said Romeo, ‘‘hear my prayer, and grant
it, lest I despair.” In such like allusions and
loving conceits they were engaged, when the lady
was called away to her mother. And Romeo
inquiring who her mother was, discovered that the
lady whose peerless beauty he was so much struck
with, was young Juliet, daughter and heir to the
lord Capulet, the great enemy of the Montagues ;
and that he had unknowingly engaged his heart to
his foe. This troubled him, but it could not
dissuade him from loving. As little rest had Juliet,
when she found that the gentleman that she had
been talking with was Romeo and a Montague,
for she had been suddenly smit with the same
hasty and inconsiderate passion for Romeo, which
he had conceived for her; and a prodigious birth
of love it seemed to her, that she must love her
enemy, and that her affections should settle there,
where family considerations should induce her chiefly
to hate.

It being midnight, Romeo with his companions
departed; but they soon missed him, for, unable

Romeo and Juliet 255

to Stay away from the house where he had left his
heart, he leaped the wall of an orchard which was
at the back of Juliet’s house. Here he had not
been long, ruminating on his new love, when Juliet
appeared above at a window, through which her
exceeding beauty seemed to break like the light
of the sun in the east ; and the moon, which shone
in the orchard with a faint light, appeared to Romeo
as if sick and pale with grief at the superior lustre
of this new sun. And she, leaning her cheek upon
her hand, he passionately wished himself a glove
upon that hand, that he might touch her cheek.
She all this while thinking herself alone, fetched a
deep sigh, and exclaimed, Ah me ! ” Romeo,
enraptured to hear her speak, said softly, and un-
heard by her, speak again, bright angel, for
such you appear, being over my head, like a winged
messenger from heaven whom mortals fall back to
gaze upon.” She, unconscious of being overheard,
and full of the new passion which that night’s
adventure had given birth to, called upon her lover
by name (whom she supposed absent): Romeo,

Romeo ! ” said she, wherefore art thou Romeo ?
Deny thy father, and refuse thy name, for my sake ;
or if thou wilt not, be but my sworn love, and I
no longer will be a Capulet.” Romeo, having this
encouragement, would fain have spoken, but he was
desirous of hearing more ; and the lady continued
her passionate discourse with herself (as she thought),
still chiding Romeo for being Romeo and a Mon-
tague, and wishing him some other name, or that
he would put away that hated name, and for that
name which was no part of himself, he should take
all herself. At this loving word Romeo could
no longer refrain, but taking up the dialogue as if
her words had been addressed to him personally,
and not merely in fancy, he bade her call him

256 Tales from Shakspeare

Love, or by whatever other name she pleased, for
he was no longer Romeo, if that name was dis-
pleasing to her. Juliet, alarmed to hear a man’s
voice in the garden, did not at first know who it
was, that by favour of the night and darkness had
thus stumbled upon the discovery of her secret ;
but when he spoke again, though her ears had not
yet drunk a hundred words of that tongue’s utter-
ing, yet so nice is a lover’s hearing, that she
immediately knew him to be young Romeo, and
she expostulated with him on the danger to which
he had exposed himself by climbing the orchard
walls, for if any of her kinsmen should find him
there, it would be death to him, being a Montague.
“ Ala-ck,” said Romeo, there is more peril in your
eye, than in twenty of their swords. Do you but
look kind upon me, lady, and I am proof against
their enmity. Better my life should be ended by
their hate, than that hated life should be prolonged,
to live without your love.” — How came you into
this place,” said Juliet, ‘‘and by whose direction?”
— “ Love directed me,” answered Romeo : “ I am
no pilot, yet wert thou as far apart from me, as that
vast shore which is washed with the farthest sea,
I should venture for such merchandise.” A crimson
blush came over Juliet’s face, yet unseen by Romeo
by reason of the night, when she reflected upon the
discovery which she had made, yet not meaning to
make it, of her love to Romeo. She would fain
have recalled her words, but that was impossible :
fain would she have stood upon form, and have
kept her lover at a distance, as the custom of dis-
creet ladies is, to frown and be perverse, and give
their suitors harsh denials at first ; to stand off, and
affect a coyness or indifference, where they most
love, that their lovers may not think them too lightly
or too easily won ; for the difficulty of attainment

257

Romeo and Juliet

increases the value of the object. But there was
no room in her case for denials, or puttings off, or
any of the customary arts of delay and protracted
courtship. Romeo had heard from her own tongue,
when she did not dream that he was near her, a
confession of her love. So with an honest frank-
ness, which the novelty of her situation excused, she
confirmed the truth of what he had before heard^
and addressing him by the name of fair Montague
(love can sweeten a sour name), she begged him
not to impute her easy yielding to levity or an
unworthy mind, but that he must lay the fault of
it (if it were a fault) upon the accident of the
night which had so strangely discovered her thoughts.
And she added, that though her behaviour to him
might not be sufficiently prudent, measured by the
custom of her sex, yet that she would prove more
true than many whose prudence was dissembling,
and their modesty artificial cunning.

Romeo was beginning to call the heavens to
witness, that nothing was farther from his thoughts
than to impute a shadow of dishonour to such an
honoured lady, when she stopped him, begging him
not to swear ; for although she joyed in him, yet
she had no joy of that night’s contract : it was too
rash, too unadvised, too sudden. But he being
urgent with her to exchange a vow of love with him
that night, she said that she already had given him
hers before he requested it ; meaning, when he
overheard her confession ; but she would retract
what she then bestowed, for the pleasure of giving
it again, for her bounty was as infinite as the sea,
and her love as deep. From this loving conference
she was called away by her nurse, who slept with
her, and thought, it time for her to be in bed, for
it was near to daybreak ; but hastily returning, she
said three or four words more to Romeo, the purport

258 Tales from Shakspeare

of which was, that if his love was indeed honour-
able, and his purpose marriage, she would send a
messenger to him to-morrow, to appoint a time for
their marriage, when she would lay all her fortunes
at his feet, and follow him as her lord through the
world. While they were settling this point, Juliet
was repeatedly called for by her nurse, and went in
and returned, and went and returned again, for she
seemed as jealous of Romeo going from her, as a
young girl of her bird, which she will let hop a
little from her hand, and pluck it back with a
silken thread ; and Romeo was as loath to part as
she ; for the sweetest music to lovers is the sound
of each other’s tongues at night. But at last they
parted, wishing mutually sweet sleep and rest for
that night.

The day was breaking when they parted, and
Romeo, who was too full of thoughts of his mistress
and that blessed meeting to allow him to sleep,
instead of going home, bent his course to a monastery
hard by, to find friar Lawrence. The good friar
was already up at his devotions, but seeing young
Romeo abroad so early, he conjectured rightly that
he had not been abed that night, but that some
distemper of youthful affection had kept him wak3hg.
He was right in imputing the cause of Romeo’s
wakefulness to love, but he made a wrong guess at
the object, for he thought that his love for Rosaline
had kept him waking. But when Romeo revealed
his new passion for Juliet, and requested the assist-
ance of the friar to marry them that day, the holy
man lifted up his eyes and hands in a sort of wonder
at the sudden change in Romeo’s affections, for he
had been privy to all Romeo’s love for Rosaline,
and his many complaints of her disdain : and he
said, that young men’s love lay not truly in their
hearts, but in their eyes. But Romeo replying, that

Romeo and Juliet 259

he himself had often chidden him for' doting on
Rosaline, who could not love him again, whereas
Juliet both loved and was beloved by him, the friar
assented in some measure to his reasons ; and think-
ing that a matrimonial alliance between young Juliet
and Romeo might happily be the means of making
up the long breach between the Capulets and the
Montagues ; which no one more lamented than this
good friar, who was a friend to both the families
and had often interposed his mediation to make up
the quarrel without effect ; partly moved by policy,
and partly by his fondness for young Romeo, to
whom he could deny nothing, the old man consented
to join their hands ih marriage.

Now was Romeo blessed indeed, and Juliet, who
knew his intent from a messenger which she had
despatched according to promise, did not fail to be
early at the cell of friar Lawrence, where their hands
were joined in holy marriage ; the good friar pray-
ing the heavens to smile upon that act, and in the
union of this young Montague and young Capulet
to bury the old strife and long dissensions of their
families.

The ceremony being over, Juliet hastened home,
where she stayed impatient for the coming of night,
at which time Romeo promised to come and meet
her in the orchard, where they had met the night
before ; and the time between seemed as tedious to
her, as the night before some great festival seems to
an impatient child, that has got new finery which it
may not put on till the morning.

That same day, about noon, Romeo’s friends,
Benvolio and Mercutio, walking through the streets
of Verona, were met by a party of the Capulets
with the impetuous Tybalt at their head. This
was the same angry Tybalt who would have fought
with Romeo at old lord Capulet’s feast. He,

T

26o Tales from Shakspeare

seeing Mercutio, accused him bluntly of associating
with Romeo, a Montague. Mercutio, who had as
much fire and youthful blood in him as. Tybalt,
replied to this accusation with some sharpness ; and
in spite of all Benvolio could say to moderate their
wrath, a quarrel was beginning, when Romeo him-
self passing that way, the fierce Tybalt turned from
Mercutio to Romeo, and gave him the disgraceful
appellation of villain. Romeo wished to avoid a
quarrel with Tybalt above all men, because he was
the kinsman of Juliet, and much beloved by her ;
besides, this young Montague had never thoroughly
entered into the family quarrel, being by nature
wise and gentle, and the name of a Capulet, which
was his dear lady’s name, was now rather a charm
to allay resentment, than a watchword to excite
fury. So he tried to reason with Tybalt, whom he
saluted mildly by the name of good Capulety as if
he, though a Montague, had some secret pleasure
in uttering that name : but Tybalt, who hated all
Montagues as he hated hell, would hear no reason,
but drew his weapon ; and Mercutio, who knew
not of Romeo’s secret motive for desiring peace
with Tybalt, but looked upon his present forbear-
ance as a sort of calm dishonourable submission,
with many disdainful words provoked Tybalt to
the prosecution of his first quarrel with him ; and
Tybalt and Mercutio fought, till Mercutio fell,
receiving his death’s wound while Romeo and
Benvolio were vainly endeavouring to part the
combatants. Mercutio being dead, Romeo kept
his temper no longer, but returned the scornful
appellation of villain which Tybalt had given him ;
and they fought till Tybalt was slain by Romeo.
This deadly broil falling out in the midst of Verona
at noonday, the news of it quickly brought a crowd
of citizens to the spot, and among them the old

At the cell of Friar Lawrence.

Romeo and Juliet 261

lords Capulet and Montague, with their wives ; and
soon after arrived the prince himself, who being
related to Mercutio, whom Tybalt had slain, and
having had the peace of his government often
disturbed by these brawls of Montagues and
Capulets, came determined to put the law in
strictest force against those who should be found
to be offenders. Benvolio, who had been eye-
witness to the fray, was commanded by the prince
to relate the origin of it ; which he did, keeping
as near the truth as he could without injury to
Romeo, softening and excusing the part which his
friends took in it. Lady Capulet, whose extreme
grief for the loss of her kinsman Tybalt made her
keep no bounds in her revenge, exhorted the prince
to do strict justice upon his murderer, and to pay
no attention to Benvolio’s representation, who, being
Romeo’s friend and a Montague, spoke partially.
Thus she pleaded against her new son-in-law, but
she knew not yet that he was her son-in-law and
Juliet’s husband. On the other hand was to be
seen Lady Montague pleading for her child’s life,
and arguing with some justice that Romeo had done
nothing worthy of punishment in taking the life of
Tybalt, which was already forfeited to the law by
his having slain Mercutio. The prince, unmoved
by the passionate exclamations of these women, on
a careful examination of the facts, pronounced his
sentence, and by that sentence Romeo was banished
from Verona.

Heavy news to young Juliet, who had been but
a few hours a bride, and now by this decree seemed
everlastingly divorced ! When the tidings reached
her, she at first gave way to rage against Romeo,
who had slain her dear cousin : she called him a
beautiful tyrant, a fiend angelical, a ravenous dove,
a lamb with a wolf’s nature, a serpent-heart hid

262 Tales from Shakspeare

with a flowering face, and other like contradictory
names, which denoted the struggles in her mind
between her love and her resentment : but in the
end love got the mastery, and the tears which she
shed for grief that Romeo had slain her cousin,
turned to drops of joy that her husband lived whom
Tybalt would have slain. Then came fresh tears,
and they were altogether of grief for Romeo’s
banishment. That word was more terrible to her
than the death of many Tybalts.

Romeo, after the fray, had taken refuge in friar
Lawrence’s cell, where he was first made acquainted
with the prince’s sentence, which seemed to him
far more terrible than death. To him it appeared
there was no world out of Verona’s walls, no living
out of the sight of Juliet. Heaven was there where
Juliet lived, and all beyond was purgatory, torture,
hell. The good friar would have applied the con-
solation of philosophy to his griefs : but this frantic
young man would hear of none, but like a madman
he tore his hair, and threw himself all along upon
the ground, as he said, to take the measure of his
grave. From this unseemly state he was roused by
a message from his dear lady, which a little revived
him ; and then the friar took the advantage to ex-
postulate with him on the unmanly weakness which
he had shown. He had slain Tybalt, but would he
also slay himself, slay his dear lady, who lived but
in his life ? The noble form of man, he said, was
but a shape of wax, when it wanted the courage
which should keep it firm. The law had been
lenient to him, that instead of death, which he had
incurred, had pronounced by the prince’s mouth
only banishment. He had slain Tybalt, but Tybalt
would have slain him : there was a sort of happiness
in that. Juliet was alive, and (beyond all hope) had
become his dear wife ; therein he was most happy.

Romeo and Juliet 263

All these blessings, as the friar made them out to
be, did Romeo put from him like a sullen misbehaved
wench. And the friar bade him beware, for such
as despaired (he said) died miserable. Then when
Romeo was a little calmed, he counselled him that
he should go that night and secretly take his leave
of Juliet, and thence proceed straightways to Mantua,
at which place he should sojourn, till the friar found
fit occasion to publish his marriage, which might
be a joyful means of reconciling their families ; and
then he did not doubt but the prince would be moved
to pardon him, and he would return with twenty
times more joy than he went forth with grief.
Romeo was convinced by these wise counsels of the
friar, and took his leave to go and seek his lady,
proposing to stay with her that night, and by day-
break pursue his journey alone to Mantua ; to which
place the good friar promised to send him letters from
time to time, acquainting him with the state of affairs
at home.

That night Romeo passed with his dear wife,
gaining secret admission to her chamber, from the
orchard in which he had heard her confession of love
the night before. That had been a night of unmixed
joy and rapture ; but the pleasures of this night, and
the delight which these lovers took in each other’s
society, were sadly allayed with the prospect of part-
ing, and the fatal adventures of the past day. The
unwelcome daybreak seemed to come too soon, and
when Juliet heard the morning song of the lark, she
would have persuaded herself that it was the night-
ingale, which sings by night ; but it was too truly
the lark which sang, and a discordant and unpleasing
note it seemed to her ; and the streaks of day in the
east too certainly pointed out that it was time for
these lovers to part. Romeo took his leave of his
dear wife with a heavy heart, promising to write

264 Tales from Shakspeare

to her from Mantua every hour in the day ; and
'when he had descended from her chamber-window,
as he stood below her on the ground, in that sad
foreboding state of mind in which she was, he appeared
to her eyes as one dead ^ in the bottom of a tomb.
Romeo’s mind misgave him in like manner : but
now he was forced hastily to depart, for it was death
for him to be found within the walls of Verona after
daybreak.

This was but the beginning of the tragedy of this
pair of star-crossed lovers. Romeo had not been
gone many days, before the old lord Capulet pro-
posed a match for Juliet. The husband he had
chosen for her, not dreaming that she was married
already, was count Paris, a gallant, young, and noble
gentleman, no unworthy suitor to the young Juliet,
if she had never seen Romeo.

The terrified Juliet was in a sad perplexity at her
father’s offer. She pleaded her youth unsuitable to
marriage, the recent death of Tybalt, which had left
her spirits too weak to meet a husband with any
face of joy, and how indecorous it would show for
the family of the Capulets to be celebrating a nuptial
feast, when his funeral solemnities were hardly over :
she pleaded every reason against the match, but the
true one, namely, that she was married already.
But lord Capulet was deaf to all her excuses, and in
a peremptory manner ordered her to get ready, for
by the following Thursday she should be married to
Paris : and having found her a husband, rich, young,
and noble, such as the proudest maid in Verona
might joyfully accept, he could not bear that out
of an affected coyness, as he construed her denial,
she should oppose obstacles to her own good fortune.

In this extremity Juliet applied to the friendly
friar, always her counsellor in distress, and he asking
her if she had resolution to undertake a desperate

Romeo and Juliet 265

remedy, and she answering that she would go into
the grave alive rather than marry Paris, her own
dear husband living ; he directed her to go home,
and appear merry, and give her consent to marry
Paris, according to her father’s desire, and on the
next night, which was the night before the marriage,
to drink off the contents of a phial which he then
gave her, the effect of which would be that for two-
and-forty hours after drinking it she should appear
cold and lifeless ; and when the bridegroom came
to fetch her in the morning, he would find her to
appearance dead ; that then she would be borne, as
the manner in that country was, uncovered on a
bier, to be buried in the family vault; that if she
could put off womanish fear, and consent to this
terrible trial, in forty-two hours after swallowing the
liquid (such was its certain operation) she would be
sure to awake, as from a dream ; and before she
should awake, he would let her husband know their
drift, and he should come in the night, and bear her
thence to Mantua. Love, and the dread of marrying
Paris, gave young Juliet strength to undertake this
horrible adventure ; and she took the phial of the
friar, promising to observe his directions.

Going from the monastery, she met the young
count Paris, and modestly dissembling, promised to
become his bride. This was joyful news to the lord
Capulet and his wife. It seemed to put youth into
the old man ; and Juliet, who had displeased him
exceedingly, by her refusal of the count, was his
darling again, now she promised to be obedient. All
things in the house were in a bustle against the ap-
proaching nuptials. No cost was spared to prepare
such festival rejoicings as Verona had never before
witnessed.

On the Wednesday night Juliet drank off the
potion. She had many misgivings lest the friar, to

266 Tales from Shakspeare

avoid the blame v^hich might be imputed to him for
marrying her to Romeo, had given her poison ; but
then he was always known for a holy man : then
lest she should awake before the time that Romeo
was to come for her ; whether the terror of the
place, a vault full of dead Capulets’ bones, and where
Tybalt, all bloody, lay festering in his shroud, would
not be enough to drive her distracted : again she
thought of all the stories she had heard of spirits
haunting the places where their bodies were bestowed.
But then her love for Romeo, and her aversion for
Paris returned, and she desperately swallowed the
draught, and became insensible.

When young Paris came early in the morning
with music to awaken his bride, instead of a living
Juliet, her chamber presented the dreary spectacle of
a lifeless corse. What death to his hopes! What
confusion then reigned through the whole house !
Poor Paris lamenting his bride, whom most detestable
death had beguiled him of, had divorced from him
even before their hands were joined. But still more
piteous it was to hear the mournings of the old lord
and lady Capulet, who having but this one, one poor
loving child to rejoice and solace in, cruel death had
snatched her from their sight, just as these careful
parents were on the point of seeing her advanced (as
they thought) by a promising and advantageous
match. Now all things that were ordained for the
festival were turned from their properties to do the
office of a black funeral. The wedding cheer served
for a sad burial feast, the bridal hymns were changed
for sullen dirges, the sprightly instruments to melan-
choly bells, and the flowers that should have been
strewed in the bride’s path, now served but to strew
her corse. Now, instead of a priest to marry her, a
priest was needed to bury her ; and she was borne to
church indeed, not to augment the cheerful hopes of

Romeo and Juliet 267

the living, but to swell the dreary numbers of the
dead.

Bad news, which always travels faster than good,
now brought the dismal story of his Juliet’s death
to Romeo, at Mantua, before the messenger could
arrive, who was sent from friar Lawrence to apprise
him that these were mock funerals only, and but the
shadow and representation of death, and that his dear
lady lay in the tomb but for a short while, expecting
when Romeo would come to release her from that
dreary mansion. Just before, Romeo had been un-
usually joyful and light-hearted. He had dreamed in
the night that he was dead (a strange dream, that
gave a dead man leave to think), and that his lady
came and found him dead, and breathed such life with
kisses in his lips, that he revived, and was an emperor !
And now that a messenger came from Verona, he
thought surely it was to confirm some good news
which his dreams had presaged, But when the con-
trary to this flattering vision appeared, and that it
was his lady who was dead in truth, whom he could
not revive by any kisses, he ordered horses to be got
ready, for he determined that night to visit Verona,
and to see his lady in her tomb. And as mischief is
swift to enter into the thoughts of desperate men,
he called to mind a poor apothecary, whose shop in
Mantua he had lately passed, and from the beggarly
appearance of the man, who seemed famished, and
the wretched show in his show of empty boxes
ranged on dirty shelves, and other tokens of extreme
wretchedness, he had said at the time (perhaps having
some misgivings that his own disastrous life might
haply meet with a conclusion so desperate), “ If a
man were to need poison, which by the law of
Mantua it is death to sell, here lives a poor wretch
who would sell it him.” These words of his now
came into his mind, and he sought out the apothecary,

268 Tales from Shakspeare

who after some pretended scruples, Romeo offering
him gold, which his poverty could not resist, sold
him a poison, which, if he swallowed, he told him,
if he had the strength of twenty men, would quickly
despatch him.

With this poison he set out for Verona, to have a
sight of his dear lady in her tomb, meaning, when he
had satisfied his sight, to swallow the poison, and be
buried by her side. He reached Verona at midnight,
and found the churchyard, in the midst of which was
situated the ancient tomb of the Capulets. He had
provided a light, and a spade, and wrenching iron,
and was proceeding to break open the monument,
when he was interrupted by a voice, which by the
name of vile Montague^ bade him desist from his un-
lawful business. It was the young count Paris, who
had come to the tomb of Juliet at that unseasonable
time of night, to strew flowers and to weep over the
grave of her that should have been his bride. He
knew not what an interest Romeo had in the dead,
but knowing him to be a Montague, and (as he
supposed) a sworn foe to all the Capulets, he judged
that he was come by night to do some villanous
shame to the dead bodies ; therefore in an angry tone
he bade him desist ; and as a criminal, condemned by
the laws of Verona to die if he were found within
the walls of the city, he would have apprehended
him. Romeo urged Paris to leave him, and warned
him by the fate of Tybalt, who lay buried there, not
to provoke his anger, or draw down another sin upon
his head, by forcing him to kill him. But the count
in scorn refused his warning, and laid hands on him
as a felon, which Romeo resisting, they fought, and
Paris fell. When Romeo, by the help of a light,
came to see who it was that he had slain, that it was
Paris, who (he learned in his way from Mantua)
should have married Juliet, he took the dead youth

Romeo and Juliet 269

by the hand, as one whom misfortune had made a
companion, and said that he would bury him in a
triumphal grave, meaning in Juliet’s grave, which he
now opened : and there lay his lady, as one whom
death had no power upon to change a feature or
complexion, in her matchless beauty ; or as if Death
were amorous, and the lean abhorred monster kept
her there for his delight ; for she lay yet fresh and
blooming, as she had fallen to sleep when she
swallowed that benumbing potion ; and near her lay
Tybalt in his bloody shroud, whom Romeo seeing,
begged pardon of his lifeless corse, and for Juliet’s
sake called him cousin^ and said that he was about to
do him a favour by putting his enemy to death.
Here Romeo took his last leave of his lady’s lips,
kissing them ; and here he shook the burden of his
cross stars from his weary body, swallowing that
poison which the apothecary had sold hint, whose
operation was fatal and real, not like that dissembling
potion which Juliet had swallowed, the effect of
which was now nearly expiring, and she about to
awake to complain that Romeo had not kept his time,
or that he had come too soon.

For now the hour was arrived at which the friar
had promised that she should awake ; and he, having
learned that his letters which he had sent to Mantua,
by some unlucky detention of the messenger, had
never reached Romeo, came himself, provided with a
pickaxe and lantern, to deliver the lady from her con-
finement \ but he was surprised to find a light already
burning in the Capulets’ monument, and to see swords
and blood near it, and Romeo and Paris lying breath-
less by the monument.

Before he could entertain a conjecture, to imagine
how these fatal accidents had fallen out, Juliet awoke
out of her trance, and seeing the friar near her, she
remembered the place where she was, and the occasion

270 Tales from Shakspeare

of her being there, and asked for Romeo, but the
friar, hearing a noise, bade her come out of that place
of death, and of unnatural sleep, for a greater power
than they could contradict had thwarted their intents ;
and being frightened by the noise of people coming,
he fled : but when Juliet saw the cup closed in her
true love’s hands, she guessed that poison had been
the cause of his end, and she would have swallowed
the dregs if any had been left, and she kissed his still
warm lips to try if any poison yet did hang upon
them ; then hearing a nearer noise of people coming,
she quickly unsheathed a dagger which she wore, and
stabbing herself, died by her true Romeo’s side.

The watch by this time had come up to the place.
A page belonging to count Paris, who had witnessed
the fight between his master and Romeo, had given
the alarm, which had spread among the citizens, who
went up and down the streets of Verona confusedly
exclaiming, A Paris ! a Romeo ! a Juliet ! as the
rumour had imperfectly reached them, till the uproar
brought lord Montague and lord Capulet out of their
beds, with the prince, to inquire into the causes of
the disturbance. The friar had been apprehended by
some of the watch, coming from the churchyard,
trembling, sighing, and weeping, in a suspicious
manner. A great multitude being assembled at the
Capulets’ monument, the friar was demanded by the
prince to deliver what he knew of these strange and
disastrous accidents.

And there, in the presence of the old lords
Montague and Capulet, he faithfully related the story
of their children’s fatal love, the part he took in
promoting their marriage, in the hope in that union
to end the long quarrels between their families : how
Romeo, there dead, was husband to Juliet ; and
Juliet, there dead, was Romeo’s faithful wife ; how
before he could find a fit opportunity to divulge their

Romeo and Juliet 271

marriage, another match was projected for Juliet,
who, to avoid the crime of a second marriage,
swallowed the sleeping draught (as he advised), and
all thought her dead j how meantime he wrote to
Romeo, to come and take her thence when the force
of the potion should cease, and by what unfortunate
miscarriage of the messenger the letters never reached
Romeo : further than this the friar could not follow
the story, nor knew more than that coming himself,
to deliver Juliet from that place of death, he found
the count Paris and Romeo slain. The remainder of
the transactions was supplied by the narration of the
page who had seen Paris and Romeo fight, and by
the servant who came with Romeo from Verona, to
whom this faithful lover had given letters to be
delivered to his father in the event of his death,
which made good the friar’s words, confessing his
marriage with Juliet, imploring the forgiveness of his
parents, acknowledging the buying of the poison of
the poor apothecary, and his intent in coming to the
monument, to die, and lie with Juliet. All these
circumstances agreed together to clear the friar from
any hand he could be supposed to have in these
complicated slaughters, further than as the unintended
consequences of his own well meant, yet too artificial
and subtle contrivances.

And the prince, turning to these old lords,
Montague and Capulet, rebuked them for their
brutal and irrational enmities, and showed them
what a scourge Heaven had laid upon such offences,
that it had found means even through the love of
their children to punish their unnatural hate. And
these old rivals, no longer enemies, agreed to bury
their long strife in their children’s graves ; and lord
Capulet requested lord Montague to give him his
hand, calling him by the name of brother, as if in
acknowledgment of the union of their families, by

272 Tales from Shakspeare

the marriage of the young Capulet and Montague ;
and saying that lord Montague’s hand (in token of
reconcilement) was all he demanded for his daughter’s
jointure : but lord Montague said he would give him
more, for he would raise her a statue of pure gold,
that while Verona kept its name, no figure should be
so esteemed for its richness and workmanship as that
of the true and faithful Juliet. And lord Capulet in
return said that he would raise another statue to
Romeo. So did these poor old lords, when it was too
late, strive to outgo each other in mutual courtesies :
while so deadly had been their rage and enmity in
past times, that nothing but the fearful overthrow of
their children (poor sacrifices to their quarrels and
dissensions) could remove the rooted hates and
jealousies of the noble families

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK

Gertrude, queen of Denmark, becoming a
widow by the sudden death of King Hamlet,
in less than two months after his death married his
brother Claudius.^ which was noted by %1J people at
the time for a strange act of indiscretion, or unfeel-
ingness, or worse ; for this Claudius did no ways
resemble_her la!te husband in the qualities of his
person or his mind, but was as contemptible in out-
ward' appearance,^__as he. was base and unworthy in
jdispQd.tion ;_an^ suspicions did not fail to ar^e in
the jninds of some, that he had privately made
"aw^ with his brother, the late king, with the view
of marrying his widow, and ascending the throne
of Denmark, to the exclusion of young Hamlet, the
son of the buried king, and lawful successor to the
throne.

But upon no one did this unadvised action of the
queen make such impression as upon this young
prince, who loved and venerated the memory of his
dead father almost to idolatry, and being of a nice
sense of honour, and a most exquisite practiser of
propriety himself, did sorely take to heart this un-
worthy conduct of his mother Gertrude : insomuch
that, between grief for his father’s death and shame
for his mother’s marriage, this young prince was
overclouded with a deep melancholy, and lost all his
mirth and all his good looks ; all his customary
pleasure in books forsook him, his princely exercises
and sports, proper to his youth, were no longer
acceptable ; he grew weary of the world, which
seemed to him an unweeded garden, where all the
273 u

274 Tales from Shakspeare

wholesome flowers were choked up, and nothing but
weeds could thrive. Not that the prospect of ex-
clusion from the throne, his lawful inheritance,
weighed so much upon his spirits, though that to a
young and high-minded prince was a bitter wound
and a sore indignity ; but what so galled him, and
took away all his cheerful spirits, was, that his i
mother had shown herself so forgetful to his father’s
memory : and such a father ! who had been to her
so loving and so gentle a husband ! and then she
always appeared as loving and obedient a wife to
him, and would hang upon him as if her affection
grew to him : and now within two months, or as it
seemed to young Hamlet, less than two months, she
had married again, married his uncle, her dear
husband’s brother, in itself a highly improper and
unlawful marriage, from the nearness of relationship,
but made much more so by the indecent haste with
which it was concluded, and the unkingly character
of the man whom she had chosen to be the partner
of her throne and bed. This it was, which more
than the loss of ten kingdoms, dashed the spirits and
brought a cloud over the mind of this honourable
young prince.

In vain was all that his mother Gertrude or the
king could do to contrive to divert him ; he still
appeared in court in a suit of deep black, as mourning
for the king his father’s death, which mode of dress
he had never laid aside, not even in compliment to
his mother upon the day she was married, nor could
he be brought to join in any of the festivities or
rejoicings of that (as appeared to him) disgraceful
day.

What mostly troubled him was an uncertainty

about the manner of his father’s death. It was given

out by Claudius that a serpent had stung him ; but
young Hamlet had shrewd suspicions that Claudius

Hamlet

275

himself was the serpent ; in plain English, that he
had murdered him for his crown, and that the serpent
who stung his father did now sit on the throne.

How far he was right in this conjecture, and what
he ought to think of his mother, how far she was
privy to this murder, and whether by her consent
or knowledge, or without, it came to pass, were the
doubts which continually harassed and distracted
him.

A rumour had reached the ear of young Hamlet,
that an apparition, exactly resembling the dead king
his father, had been seen by the soldiers upon watch,
on the platform before the palace at midnight, for two
or three nights successively. The figure came con-
stantly clad in the same suit of armour, from head to
foot, which the dead king was known to have worn :
and they who saw it (Hamlet’s bosom friend Horatio
was one) agreed in their testimony as to the time and
manner of its appearance : that it came just as th©
clock struck twelve ; that it looked pale, with a fkce
more of sorrow than of anger ; that its beard was
grisly, and the colour a sable silvered^ as they had seen
it in his lifetime : that it made no answer when they
spoke to it ; yet once they thought it lifted up its
head, and addressed itself to motion, as if it were
about to speak ; but in that moment the morning
cock crew, and it shrunk in haste away, and vanished
out of their sight.

The young prince, strangely amazed at their
relation, which was too consistent and agreeing with
itself to disbelieve, concluded that it was his father’s
ghost which they had seen, and determined to take
his watch with the soldiers that night, that he might
have a chance of seeing it ; for he reasoned with
himself, that such an appearance did not come for
nothing, but that the ghost had something to impart,
and though it had been silent hitherto, yet it would

276 Tales from Shakspeare

speak to him. And he waited with impatience for
the coming of night.

When night came he took his stand with Horatio,
and Marcellus, one of the guard, upon the platform,
where this apparition was accustomed to walk : and
it being a cold night, and the air unusually raw and
nipping, Hamlet and Horatio and their companion
fell into some talk about the coldness of the night,
which was suddenly broken oif* by Horatio announcing
that the ghost was coming.

At the sight of his father’s spirit, Hamlet was
struck with a sudden surprise and fear. He at first
called upon the angels and heavenly ministers to
defend them, for he knew not whether it were a
good spirit or bad ; whether it came for good or evil :
but he gradually assumed more courage ; and his
father (as it seemed to him) looked upon him so
piteously, and as it were desiring to have conversation
with him, and did in all respects appear so like himself
as he was when he lived, that Hamlet could not help
addressing him : he called him by his name, Hamlet,
King, Father ! and conjured him that he would tell
the reason why he had left his grave, where they had
seen him quietly bestowed, to come again and visit
the earth and the moonlight : and besought him
that he would let them know if there was anything
which they could do to give peace to his spirit. And
the ghost beckoned to Hamlet, that he should go
with him to some more removed place, where they
might be alone ; and Horatio and Marcellus would
have dissuaded^ the young prince from following it,
for they feared lest it should be some evil spirit, who
would tempt him to the neighbouring sea, or to the
top of some dreadful cliff, and there put on some
horrible shape which might deprive the prince of
his reason. But their counsels and entreaties could
not alter Hamlet’s determination, who cared too little

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277

about life to fear the losing of it ; and as to his soul,
he said, what could the spirit do to that, being a thing
immortal as itself? And he felt as hardy as a lion,
and bursting from them, who did all they could to
hold him, he followed whithersoever the spirit led
him.

And when they were alone together, the spirit
broke silence, and told him that he was the ghost of
Hamlet, his father, who had been cruelly murdered,
and he told the manner of it ; that it was done by
his own brother Claudius, Hamlet’s uncle, as Hamlet
had already but too much suspected, for the hope of
succeeding to his bed and crown. That as he was
sleeping in his garden, his custom always in the after-
noon, his treasonous brother stole upon him in his
sleep, and poured the juice ofjoi^nous henbane into
his ears, which has such an antipathy to the life of
man, that swift as quicksilver it courses through all
the veins of the body, baking up the blood, and
spreading a crustlike leprosy all over the skin : thus
sleeping, by a brother’s hand he was cut off* at once
from his crown, his queen, and his life : and he
adjured Hamlet, if he did ever his dear father love,
that he would revenge his foul murder. And the
ghost lamented to his son, that his mother should so
fall off from virtue, as to prove false to the wedded
love of her first husband, and to marry his murderer;
but he cautioned Hamlet, howsoever he proceeded in
his revenge against his wicked uncle, by no means to
act any violence against the person of his mother, but
to leave her to heaven, and to the stings and thorns
of conscience. And Hamlet promised to observe the
ghost’s direction in all things, and the ghost vanished.

And when Hamlet was left alone, he took up a
solemn resolution, that all he had in his memory, all
that he had ever learned by books or observation,
should be instantly forgotten by him, and nothing

278 Tales from Shakspeare

live in his brain but the memory of what the ghost
‘ had told him, and enjoined him to do. And Hamlet
related the particulars of the conversation which had
passed to none but his dear friend Horatio ; and he
enjoined both to him and Marcellus the strictest
secrecy as to what they had seen that night.

The terror which the sight of the ghost had left
upon the senses of Hamlet, he being weak and
dispirited before, almost unhinged his mind, and drove
him beside his reason. And he, fearing that it would
continue to have this effect, which might subject
'him to observation, and set his uncle upon his guard,
if he suspected that he was meditating anything
against him, or that Hamlet really knew more of his
father’s death than he professed, took up a strange
resolution, from that time to counterfeit as if he were
really and truly mad ; thinking that he would be less
an object of suspicion when his uncle should believe
him incapable of any serious project, and that his real
perturbation of mind would be best covered and pass
concealed under a disguise of pretended lunacy.

From this time Hamlet affected a certain wildness
and strangeness in his apparel, his speech, and be-
haviour, and did so excellently counterfeit the madman,
that the king and queen were both deceived, and not
thinking his grief for his father’s death a sufficient
cause to produce such a distemper, for they knew not
of the appearance of the ghost, they concluded that
his malady was love, and they thought they had found
out the object.

Before Hamlet fell into the melancholy way which
has been related, he had dearly loved a fair maid
called Ophelia, the daughter of Polonius, the king’s
chief counsellor in affairs of state. He had sent her
letters and rings, and made many tenders of his
affection to her, and importuned her with love in
honourable fashion : and she had given belief to his

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279

vows and importunities. But the melancholy which
he fell into latterly had made him neglect her, and
from the time he conceived the project of counter-
feiting madness, he affected to treat her with unkind-
ness, and a sort of rudeness : but she, good lady,
rather than reproach him with being false to her, per-
suaded herself that it was nothing but the disease in
his mind, and no settled unkindness, which had made
him less observant of her than formerly ; and she
compared the faculties of his once noble mind and
excellent understanding, impaired as they were with
the deep melancholy that oppressed him, to sweet
bells which in themselves are capable of most exqui-
site music, but when jangled out of tune, or rudely
handled, produce only a harsh and unpleasing sound.

Though the rough business which Hamlet had in
hand, the revenging of his father’s death upon his
murderer, did not suit with the playful state of court-
ship, or admit of the society of so idle a passion as
love now seemed to him, yet it could not hinder but
that soft thoughts of his Ophelia would come between,
and in one of these moments, when he thought
that his treatment of this gentle lady had been un-
reasonably harsh, he wrote her a letter full of wild starts
of passion, and in extravagant terms, such as agreed
with his supposed madness, but mixed with some
gentle touches of affection, which could not but show
to this honoured lady that a deep love for her yet lay
at the bottom of his heart. He bade her to doubt
the stars were fire, and to doubt that the sun did
move, to doubt truth to be a liar, but never to doubt
that he loved ; with more of such extravagant phrases.
This letter Ophelia dutifully showed to her father,
and the old man thought himself bound to com-
municate it to the king and queen, who from that
time supposed that the true cause of Hamlet’s mad-
ness was love. And the queen wished that the good

28o Tales from Shakspeare

beauties of Ophelia might be the happy cause of his
wildness, for so she hoped that her virtues might
happily restore him to his accustomed way again, to
both their honours.

But Hamlet’s malady lay deeper than she supposed,
or than could be so cured. His father’s ghost, which
he had seen, still haunted his imagination, and the
sacred injunction to revenge his murder gave him no
rest till it was accomplished. Every hour of delay
seemed to him a sin, and a violation of his father’s
commands. Yet how to compass the death of the
king, surrounded as he constantly was with his
guards, was no easy matter. Or if it had been, the
presence of the queen, Hamlet’s mother, who was
generally with the king, was a restraint upon his
purpose, which he could not break through. Besides,
the very circumstance that the usurper was his
mother’s husband filled him with some remorse, and
still blunted the edge of his purpose. The mere act
of putting a fellow-creature to death was in itself
odious and terrible to a disposition naturally so gentle
as Hamlet’s was. His very melancholy, and the
dejection of spirits he had so long been in, produced
an irresoluteness and wavering of purpose, which kept
him from proceeding to extremities. Moreover, he
could not help having some scruples upon his mind,^
whether the spirit which he had seen was indeed his ’
father, or whether it might not be the devil, who he had
heard has power to take any form he pleases, and who
might have assumed his father’s sh^pe only to take
advantage of his weakness and his melancholy, to
drive him to the doing of so desperate an act as
murder. And he determined that he would have
more certain grounds to go upon than a vision, or
apparition, which might be a delusion.

While he was in this irresolute mind there came
to the court certain players, in whom Hamlet formerly

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281

used to take delight, and particularly to hear one of
them speak a tragical speech, describing the death of
old Priam, King of Troy, with the grief of Hecuba
his queen. Hamlet welcomed his old friends, the
players, and remembering how that speech had for-
merly given him pleasure, requested the player to
repeat it ; which he did in so lively a manner, setting
forth the cruel murder of the feeble old king, with
the destruction of his people and city by fire, and the
mad grief of the old queen, running barefoot up and
down the palace, with a poor clout upon that head
where a crown had been, and with nothing but a
blanket upon her loins, snatched up in haste, where
she had worn a royal robe ; that not only it drew
tears from all that stood by, who thought they saw
the real scene, so lively was it represented, but even
the player himself delivered it with a broken voice
and real tears. This put Hamlet upon thinking, if
that player could so work himself up to passion by a
mere fictitious speech, to weep for one that he had
never seen, for Hecuba, that had been dead so many
hundred years, how dull was he, who having a real
motive and cue for passion, a real king and a dear
father murdered, was yet so little moved, that his
revenge all this while had seemed to have slept in
dull and muddy forgetfulness ! and while he meditated
on actors and acting, and the powerful effects which
a good play, represented to the life, has upon the
spectator, he remembered the instance of some mur-
derer, who seeing^a murder on the stage, was by the
mere force of the scene and resemblance of circum-
stances so affected, that on the spot he confessed the
crime which he had committed. And he determined
that these j)layers should play something like the
murder of his~ father before his uncle, and he would
watch narrowly what effect it might have upon him,
and from his looks he would be able to gather with

282 Tales from Shakspeare

more certainty if he were the murderer or not. To
this effect he ordered a play to be prepared, to the
representation of which he invited the king and
queen.

The story of the play was of a murder done in
v/'ienna upon a duke. The duke’s name was Gon-
zago, his wife Baptista. The play showed how one
Lucianus, a near relation to the duke, poisoned him in
his garden for his estate, and how the murderer in a
short time after got the love of Gonzago’s wife.

At the representation of this play, the king, who
did not know the trap which was laid for him, was
present, with his queen and the whole court : Hamlet
sitting attentively near him to observe his looks.
The play began with a conversation between Gonzago
and his wife, in which the lady made many protesta-
tions of love, and of never marrying a second husband,
if she should outlive Gonzago ; wishing she might
be accursed if she ever took a second husband, and
adding that no woman did so, but those wicked women
who kill their first husbands. Hamlet observed the
king his uncle change colour at this expression, and
that it was as bad as wormwood both to him and to
the queen. But when Lucianus, according to the
story, came to poison Gonzago sleeping in the garden,
the strong resemblance which it bore to his own
wicked act upon the late king, his brother, whom he
had poisoned in his garden, so struck upon the con-
science of this usurper, that he was unable to sit out
the rest of the play, but on a sudden calling for lights
to his chamber, and affecting or partly feeling a
sudden sickness, he abruptly left the theatre. The
king being departed, the play was given over. Now
Hamlet had seen enough to be satisfied that the words
of the ghost were true, and no illusion ; and in a fit
of gaiety, like that which comes over a man who
suddenly has some great doubt or scruple resolved, he

Hamlet

283

swore to Horatio, that he would take the ghost’s word
for a thousand pounds. But before he could make up
his resolution as to what measures of revenge he
should take, now he was certainly informed that his
uncle was his father’s murderer, he was sent for
by the queen his mother, to a private conference in
her closet.

It was by desire of the king that the queen sent
for Hamlet, that she might signify to her son how
much his late behaviour had displeased them both,
and the king, wishing to know all that passed at that
conference, and thinking that the too partial report
of a mother might let slip some part of Hamlet’s
words, which it might much import the king to
know, Polonius, the old counsellor of state, was
ordered to plant himself behind the hangings in the
queen’s closet, where he might unseen hear all that
passed. This artifice was particularly adapted to the
disposition of Polonius, who was a man grown old
in crooked maxims and policies of state, and delighted
to get at the knowledge of matters in an indirect and
cunning way.

Hamlet being come to his mother, she began to
tax him in the rourdest way with his actions and
behaviour, and she told him that he had given great
offence to his father^ meaning the king, his uncle,
whom, because he had married her, she called Ham-
let’s father. Hamlet, sorely indignant that she should
give so dear and honoured a name as father seemed to
him, to a wretch who was indeed no better than the
murderer of his true father, with some sharpness
replied, Mother, have much offended my father,^"*
The queen said that was but an idle answer. “ As
good as the question deserved,” said Hamlet. The
queen asked him if he had forgotten who it was he
was speaking to ? “ Alas ! ” replied Hamlet, ‘‘ I wish
I could forget. You are the queen, your husband’s

284 Tales from Shakspeare

brother’s wife ; and you are my mother : I wish you
were not what you are.” Nay, then,” said the
queen, if you show me so little respect, I will set
those to you that can speak,” and was going to send
the king or Polonius to him. But Hamlet would not
let her go, now he had her alone, till he had tried if
his words could not bring her to some sense of her
wicked life ; and, taking her by the wrist, he held
her fast, and made her sit down. She, affrighted at
his earnest manner, and fearful lest in his lunacy he
should do her a mischief, cried out ; and a voice was
heard from behind the hangings, “ Help, help, the
queen !” which Hamlet hearing, and verily thinking
that it was the king himself there concealed, he drew
his sword and stabbed at the place where thp voice
came from, as he would have stabbed a rat that ran
there, till the voice ceasing, he concluded the person
to be dead. But when he dragged for the body, it
was not the king, but Polonius, the old officious
counsellor, that had planted himself as a spy behind
the hangings. Oh me ! ” exclaimed the queen,
what a rash and bloody deed have you done ! ”
A bloody deed, mother,” replied Hamlet, “ but not
so bad as yours, who killed a king, and married his
brother.” Hamlet had gone too far to leave off here.
He was now in the humour to speak plainly to his
mother, and he pursued it. And though the faults
of parents are to be tenderly treated by their children,
yet in the case of great crimes the son may have
leave to speak even to his own mother with some
harshness, so as that harshness is meant for her good,
and to turn her from her wicked ways, and not done
for the purpose of upbraiding. And now this virtuous
prince did in moving terms represent to the queen
the heinousness of her offence, in being so forgetful
of the dead king, his father, as in so short a space of
time to marry with his brother and reputed murderer :

Hamlet

285

such an act as, after the vows which she had sworn
to her first husband, was enough to make all vows of
women suspected, and all virtue to be accounted
hypocrisy, wedding contracts to be less than gamesters’
oaths, and religion to be a mockery and a mere form
of words. He said she had done such a deed, that
the heavens blushed at it, and the earth was sick of
her because of it. And he showed her two pictures,
the one of the late king, her first husband, and the
other of the present king, her second husband, and
he bade her mark the difference ; what a grace was
on the brow of his father, how like a god he looked !
the curls of Apollo, the forehead of Jupiter, the eye
of Mars, and a posture like to Mercury newly
alighted on some heaven-kissing hill ! this man, he
said, had been her husband. And then he showed her
whom she had got in his stead : how like a blight or
a mildew he looked, for so he had blasted his whole-
some brother. And the queen was sore ashamed that
he should so turn her eyes inward upon her soul,
which she now saw so black and deformed. And he
asked her how she could continue to live with this
man, and be a wife to him, who had murdered her
first husband, and got the crown by as false means as

a thief and just as he spoke, the ghost of his

father, such as he was in his lifetime, and such as he
had lately seen it, entered the room, and Hamlet, in
great terror, asked what it would have ; and the
ghost said that it came to remind him of the revenge
he had promised, which Hamlet seemed to have
forgot ; and the ghost bade him speak to his mother,
for the grief and terror she was in would else kill her.
It then vanished, and was seen by none but Hamlet,
neither could he by pointing to where it stood, or by
any description, make his mother perceive it ; who
was terribly frightened all this while to hear him
conversing, as it seemed to her, with nothing ; and

286 Tales from Shakspeare

she imputed it to the disorder of his mind. But
Hamlet begged her not to flatter her wicked soul in
such a manner as to think that it was his madness,
and not her own offences, which had brought his
father’s spirit again on the earth. And he bade her
feel his pulse, how temperately it beat, not like a
madman’s. And he begged of her with tears, to
confess herself to heaven for what was past, and for
the future to avoid the company of the king, and be
no more as a wife to him : and when she should
show herself a mother to him, by respecting his
father’s memory, he would ask a blessing of her as a
son. And she promising to observe his directions, the
conference ended.

And now Hamlet was at leisure to consider who it
was that in his unfortunate rashness he had killed :
and when he came to see that it was Polonius, the
father of the lady Ophelia, whom he so dearly loved,
he drew apart the dead body, and, his spirits being
now a little quieter, he wept for what he had done.

The unfortunate death of Polonius gave the king
a pretence for sending Hamlet out of the kingdom.
He would willingly have put him to death, fearing
him as dangerous ; but he dreaded the people, who
loved Hamlet, and the queen, who, with all her
faults, doted upon the prince, her son. So this subtle
king, under pretence of providing for Hamlet’s safety,
that he might not be called to account for Polonius’
death, caused him to be conveyed on board a ship
bound for England, under the care of two courtiers,
by whom he despatched letters to the English court,
which in that time was in subjection and paid tribute ^
to Denmark, requiring for special reasons there pre-
tended, that Hamlet should be put to death as soon
as he landed on English ground. Hamlet, suspecting
some treachery, in the night-time secretly got at the
letters, and skilfully erasing his own name, he in the

Hamlet

287

stead of it put in the names of those two courtiers^
who had the charge of him, to be put to death : then
sealing up the letters, he put them into their place
again. Soon after the ship was attacked by pirates,
and a sea-fight commenced ; in the course of which
Hamlet, desirous to show his valour, with sword in
hand singly boarded the •enemy’s vessel ^ while his
own ship, in a cowardly manner, bore away, and
leaving him to his fate, the two courtiers made the
best of their way to England, charged with those
letters the sense of which Hamlet had altered to their
own deserved destruction.

The pirates, who had the prince in their power,
showed themselves gentle enemies ; and knowing
whom they had got prisoner, in the hope that the*
prince might do them a good turn at court in recom-
pense for any favour they might show him, they set
Hamlet on shore at the nearest port in Denmark.
From that place Hamlet wrote to the king, acquaint-
ing him with the strange chance which had brought
him back to his own country, and saying that on the
next day he should present himself before his majesty.
When he got home, a sad spectacle offered itself the-
first thing to his eyes.

This was the funeral of the young and beautiful
Ophelia, his once ^ear mistress. The wits of this
young lady had begun to turn ever since her poor
father’s death. That he should die a violent death,^
and by the hands of the prince whom she loved, so
affected this tender young maid, that in a little time
she grew perfectly distracted, and would go about
giving flowers away to the ladies of the court, and
saying that they were for her father’s burial, singing
songs about love and about death, and sometimes
such as had no meaning at all, as if she had no
memory of what happened to her. There was a
willow which grew slanting over a brook, andi

288 Tales from Shakspeare

reflected its leaves on the stream. To this brook
she came one day when she was unwatched, with
garlands she had been making, mixed up of daisies
and nettles, flowers and weeds together, and clamber-
ing up to hang her garland upon the boughs of the
willow, a bough broke, and precipitated this fair young
maid, garland, and all that she had gathered, into
the water, where her clothes bore her up for a
while, during which she chanted scraps of old tunes,
like one insensible to her own distress, or as if she
were a creature natural to that element : but long
it was not before her garments, heavy with the
wet, pulled her in from her melodious singing to a
muddy and miserable death. It was the funeral of
this fair maid which her brother Laertes was cele-
brating, the king and queen and whole court being
present, when Hamlet arrived. He knew not what
all this show imported, but stood on one side, not
inclining to interrupt the ceremony. He saw the
flowers strewed upon her grave, as the custom was
in maiden burials, which the queen herself threw
in ; and as she threw them she said, Sweets to
the sweet ! I thought to have decked thy bride-
bed, sweet maid, not to have strewed thy grave,
/ Thou shouldst have been my Hamlet’s wife,” And
he heard her brother wish that violets might spring
from her grave : and he saw him leap into the grave
all frantic with grief, and bid the attendants pile
mountains of earth upon him, that he might be
buried with her. And Hamlet’s love for this fair
maid came back to him, and he could not bear
that a brother should show so much transport of
grief, for he thought that he loved Ophelia better
than forty thousand brothers. Then discovering
himself, he leaped into the grave where Laertes was,
all as frantic or more frantic than he, and Laertes
knowing him to be Hamlet, who had been the cause

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289

of his father’s and his sister’s death, grappled hin^
by the throat as an enemy, till the attendants parted
them: and Hamlet, after the funeral, excused his
hasty act in throwing himself into the grave as if
to brave Laertes; but he said he could not bear
that any one should seem to outgo him in grief for
the death of the fair Ophelia. And for the time
these two noble youths seemed reconciled.

But out of the grief and anger of Laertes for the
death of his father and Ophelia, the king, Hamlet’s
wicked uncle, contrived destruction for Hamlet.
He set on Laertes, under cover of peace and
reconciliation, to challenge Hamlet to a friendly trial
of skill at fencing, which Hamlet accepting, a day
was appointed to try the match. At this match all
the court was present, and Laertes, by direction of
the king, prepared a poisoned weapon. Upon this
match great wagers were laid by the courtiers, as
both Hamlet and Laertes were known to excel at
this sword play ; and Hamlet taking up the foils
chose one, not at all suspecting the treachery of
Laertes, or being careful to examine Laertes’
weapon, who, instead of a foil or blunted sword,
which the laws of fencing require, made use of one
with a point, and poisoned. At first Laertes did
but play with Hamlet, and suffered him to gain some
advantages, which the dissembling king magnified
and extolled beyond measure, drinking to Hamlet’s
success, and wagering rich bets upon the issue : but
after a few pauses, Laertes growing warm made a
deadly thrust at Hamlet with his poisoned weapon,
and gave him a mortal blow. Hamlet incensed, but
not knowing the whole of the treachery, in the scuffle
exchanged his own innocent weapon for Laertes’
deadly one, and with a thrust of Laertes’ own sword
repaid Laertes home, who was thus justly caught
in his own treachery. In this instant the queen

290 Tales from Shakspeare

shrieked out that she was poisoned. She had in-
advertently drunk out of a bowl which the king
had prepared for Hamlet, in case, that being warm
in fencing, he should call for drink; into this the
treacherous king had infused a deadly poison, to make
sure of Hamlet, if Laertes had failed. He had
forgotten to warn the queen of the bowl, which
she drank of, and immediately died, exclaiming with
her last breath that she was poisoned. Hamlet,
suspecting some treachery, ordered the doors to be
shut, while he sought it out. Laertes told him to
seek no farther, for he was the traitor; and feeling
his life go away with the wound which Hamlet had
given him, he made confession of the treachery he
had used, and how he had fallen a victim to it :
and he told Hamlet of the envenomed point, and
said that Hamlet had not half an hour to live, for no
medicine could cure him ; and begging forgiveness
of Hamlet, he died, with his last words accusing
the king of being the contriver of the mischief.
When Hamlet saw his end draw near, there being
yet some venom left upon the sword, he suddenly
turned upon his false uncle, and thrust the point of
it to his heart, fulfilling the promise which he had
made to his father’s spirit, whose injunction was
now accomplished, and his foul murder revenged
upon the murderer. Then Hamlet, feeling his
breath fail and life departing, turned to his dear
friend Horatio, who had been spectator of this
fatal tragedy ; and with his dying breath requested
him that he would live to tell his story to the
world (for Horatio had made a motion as if he would
slay himself to accompany the prince in death), and
Horatio promised that he would make a true report,
as one that was privy to all the circumstances.
And, thus satisfied, the noble heart of Hamlet
c>-acked; and Horatio and the bystanders with many

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291

tears commended the spirit of this sweet prince to
the guardianship of angels. For Hamlet was a
loving and a gentle prince, and greatly beloved for
his many noble and princelike qualities ; and if he
had lived, would no doubt have proved a most royal
and complete king to Denmark.

OTHELLO

BRABANTIO, the rich senator of Venice,
had a fair daughter, the gentle Desdemona.
She was sought to by divers suitors, both on
account of her many virtuous qualities, and for her
rich expectations. But among the suitors of her
own clime and complexion, she saw none whom
she could affect : for this noble lady, who regarded
the mind more than the features of men, with a
singularity rather to be admired than imitated, had
chosen for the object of her affections, a Moor, a
black, whom her father loved, and often invited to
his house.

Neither is Desdemona to be altogether con-
demned for the unsuitableness of the person whom
she selected for her lover. Bating that Othello
was black, the noble Moor wanted nothing which
might recommend him to the affections of the
greatest lady. He was a soldier, and a brave one ;
and by his conduct in bloody wars against thtf
Turks, had risen to the rank of general in the
Venetian service, and was esteemed and trusted by
the state.

He had been a traveller, and Desdemona (as is the
manner of ladies) loved to hear him tell the story of
his adventures, which he would run through from
his earliest recollection ; the battles, sieges, and en-
counters, which he had passed through ; the perils
he had been exposed to by land and by water ; his
hair-breadth escapes, when he had entered a breach,
or marched up to the mouth of a cannon ; and how
he had been taken prisoner by the insolent enemy.

292

Othello

293

and sold to slavery ; how he demeaned himself in
that state, and how he escaped : all these accounts,
added to the narration of the strange things he had
seen in foreign countries, the vast wilderness and
romantic caverns, the quarries, the rocks and moun-
tains, whose heads are in the clouds ; of the savage
nations, the cannibals who are man-eaters, and a race
of people in Africa whose heads do grow beneath their
shoulders : these travellers’ stories would so enchain
the attention of Desdemona, that if she were called
off at any time by household affairs, she would despatch
with all haste that business, and return, and with a
greedy ear devour Othello’s discourse. And once he
took advantage of a pliant hour, and drew from her a
prayer, that he would tell her the whole story of his
life at large, of which she had heard so much, but
only by parts : to which he consented, and beguiled
her of many a tear, when he spoke of some distressful
stroke which his youth had suffered.

His story being done, she gave him for his pains a
world of sighs : she swore a pretty oath, that it was
all passing strange, and pitiful, wondrous pitiful : she
wished (she said) she had not heard it, yet she wished
that heaven had made her such a man ; and then she
thanked him, and told him, if he had a friend who
loved her, he had only to teach him how to tell his
story, and that would woo her. Upon this hint,
delivered not with more frankness than modesty,
accompanied with certain bewitching prettiness, and
blushes, which Othello could not but understand, he
spoke more openly of his love, and in this golden
opportunity gained the consent of the generous lady
Desdemona privately to marry him.

Neither Othello’s colour nor his fortune were such
that it could be hoped Brabantio would accept him
for a son-in-law. He had left his daughter free ; but
he did expect that, as the manner of noble Venetian

294 Tales from Shakspeare

ladies was, she would choose ere long a husband of
senatorial rank or expectations ; but in this he was
deceived ; Desdemona loved the Moor, though he
was black, and devoted her heart and fortunes to his
valiant parts and qualities ; so was her heart subdued
to an implicit devotion to the man she had selected
for a husband, that his very colour, which to all
but this discerning lady would have proved an insur-
mountable objection, was by her esteemed above all
the white skins and clear complexions of the young
Venetian nobility, her suitors.

Their marriage, which, though privately carried,
could not long be kept a secret, came to the ears of
the old man, Brabantio, who appeared in a solemn
council of the senate, as an accuser of the Moor
Othello, who by spells and witchcraft (he maintained)
had seduced the affections of the fair Desdemona to
marry him, without the consent of her father, and
against the obligations of hospitality.

At this juncture of time it happened that the state
of Venice had immediate need of the services of
Othello, news having arrived that the Turks with
mighty preparation had fitted out a fleet, which was
bending its course to the island of Cypi:us, with
intent to regain that strong post From the Venetians,
who then held it ; in this emergency the state turned
its eyes upon Othello, who alone was deemed ade-
quate to conduct the defence of Cyprus against the
Turks. So that Othello, now summoned before the
senate, stood in their presence at once as a candidate
for a great state employment, and as a culprit, charged
with offences which by the laws of Venice were made
capital.

The age and senatorial character of old Brabantio,
commanded a most patient hearing from that grave
assembly ; but the incensed father conducted his
accusation with so much intemperance, producing

Othello

295

likelihoods and allegations for proofs, that, when
Othello was called upon for his defence, he had only
to relate a plain tale of the course of his love ; which
he did with such an artless eloquence, recounting the
whole story of his wooing, as we have related it aWe,
and delivered his speech with so noble a plainness
(the evidence of truth), that the duke, who sat as
chief judge, could not help confessing that a tale so
told would have won his daughter too : and the spells
and conjurations which Othello had used in his
courtship, plainly appeared to have been no more
than the honest arts of men in love ; and the only
witchcraft which he had used, the faculty of telling a
soft tale to win a lady’s ear.

This statement of Othello was confirmed by the
testimony of the lady Desdemona herself, who ap-
peared in court, and professing a duty to her father
for life and education, challenged leave of him to
profess a yet higher duty to her lord and husband,
even so much as her mother had shown in preferring
him (Brabantio) above her father.

The old senator, unable to maintain his plea, called
the Moor to him with many expressions of sorrow,
and, as an act of necessity, bestowed upon him his
daughter, whom, if he had been free to withhold her
(he told him), he would with all his heart have kept
from him ; adding, that he was glad at soul that he
had no other child, for this behaviour of Desdemona
would have taught him to be a tyrant, and hang clogs
on them for her desertion.

This difficulty being got over, Othello, to whom
custom had rendered the hardships of a military
life as natural as food and rest are to other men,
readily undertook the management of the wars in
Cyprus : and Desdemona, preferring the honour of
her lord (though with danger) before the indulgence
of those idle delights in which new-married people

296 Tales from Shakspeare

usually waste their time, cheerfully consented to his
going.

No sooner were Othello and his lady landed in
Cyprus, than news arrived, that a desperate tempest
had dispersed the Turkish fleet, and thus the island
was secure from any immediate apprehension of an
attack. But the war, which Othello was to suffer,
was now beginning ; and the enemies, which malice
stirred up against his innocent lady, proved in their
nature more deadly than strangers or infidels.

Among all the general’s friends no one possessed
the confidence of Othello more entirely than Cassio.
Michael Cassio was a young soldier, a Florentine,
gay, amorous, and of pleasing address, favourite
qualities with women ; he was handsome and elo-
quent, and exactly such a person as might alarm the
jealousy of a man advanced in years (as Othello in
some measure was), who had married a young and
beautiful wife ; but Othello was as free from jealousy
as he was noble, and as incapable of suspecting as
of doing a base action. He had employed this
Cassio in his love affair with Desdemona, and Cassio
had been a sort of go-between in his suit ; for
Othello, fearing that himself had not those soft parts
of conversation which please ladies, and finding
these qualities in his friend, would often depute
Cassio to go (as he phrased it) a courting for him:
such innocent simplicity being rather an honour than
a blemish to the character of the valiant Moor. So
that no wonder, if next to Othello himself (but at
far distance, as beseems a virtuous wife) the gentle
Desdemona loved and trusted Cassio. Nor had
the marriage of this couple made any difference in
their behaviour to Michael Cassio. He frequented
their house, and his free and rattling talk was no
unpleasing variety to Othello, who was himself of a
more serious temper : for such tempers are observed

Othello

297

often to delight in their contraries, as a relief from
the oppressive excess of their own : and Desdemona
and Cassio would talk and laugh together, as in the
days when he went a courting for his friend.

Othello had lately promoted Cassio to be the
lieutenant, a place of trust, and nearest to the
general’s person. This promotion gave great offence
to lago, an older officer who thought he had a
better claim than Cassio, and would often ridicule
Cassio as a fellow fit only for the company of ladies,
and one that knew no more of the art of war or
how to set an army in array for battle, than a girl,
lago hated Cassio, and he hated Othello, as well for
favouring Cassio, as for an unjust suspicion, which
he had lightly taken up against Othello, that the
Moor was too fond of lago’s wife Emilia. From
these imaginary provocations, the plotting mind of
lago conceived a horrid scheme of revenge, which
should involve both Cassio, the Moor, and Desde-
mona, in one common ruin.

lago was artful, and had studied human nature
deeply, and he knew that of all the torments which
afflict the mind of man (and far bevond bodily
torture), the pains of jealousy were the most intoler-
able, and had the sorest sting. If he could succeed
in making Othello jealous of Cassio, he thought it
would be an exquisite plot of revenge, and might
end in the death of Cassio or Othello, or both; he
cared not.

The arrival of the general and his lady, in Cyprus,
meeting with the news of the dispersion of the
enemy’s fleet, made a sort of holiday in the island.
Everybody gave themselves up to feasting and
making merry. Wine flowed in abundance, and
cups went round to the health of the black Othello,
and his lady the fair Desdemona.

Cassio had the direction of the guard that night.

298 Tales from Shakspeare

with a charge from Othello to keep the soldiers from
excess in drinking, that no brawl might arise, to
fright the inhabitap^ts, or disgust them with the
new-landed forces. (^That night lago began his deep-
laid plans of mischfef : under colour of loyalty and^
love to the general, he enticed Cassio to make rather
too free with the bottle (a great fault in an officer
upon guard). Cassio for a time resisted, but he
could not long hold out against the honest freedom
which lago knew how to put on, buFTc^t swallow-
ing glass after glass (as lago still plied him with
drink and encouraging songs), and Cassio’s tongue
ran over in praise of the lady Desdemona, whom he
again and again toasted, affirming that she was a
most exquisite lady : until at last the enemy which
he put into his mouth stole away his brains ; and
upon some provocation given him by a fellow whom
lago had set on, swords were drawn, and Montano,
a worthy officer, who interfered to appease the dis-
pute, was wounded in the scuffie. The riot now
began to be general, and lago, who had set on foot
the mischief, was foremost in spreading the alarm,
causing the castle-bell to be rung (as if some
dangerous mutiny instead of a slight drunken quarrel
had arisen) : the alarm-bell ringing awakened Othello,
who, dressing in a hurry, and coming to the scene
of action, questioned Cassio of the cause. Cassio
was now come to himself, the effect of the wine
having a little gone off, but was too much ashamed
to reply ; and lago, pretending a great reluctance
to accuse Cassio, but, as it were, forced into it by
Othello, who insisted to know the truth, gave an
account of the whole matter (leaving out his own
share in it, which Cassio was too far gone to
remember) in such a manner, as while he seemed
to make Cassio’s offence less, did indeed make it
appear greater than it was. The result was, that

Othello

299

Othello, who was a strict observer of discipline, was
compelled to take away Cassio’s place of lieutenant
from him.

Thus did lago’s first artifice succeed completely ;
he had now undermined his hated rival, and thrust
him out of his place : but a further use was hereafter
to be made of the adventure of this disastrous night.

Cassio, whom this misfortune had entirely sobered,
now lamented to his seeming friend lago that he
should have been such a fool as to transform him-
self into a beast. He was undone, for how could he
ask the general for his place again ? he would tell
him he was a drunkard. He despised himself. lago,
affecting to make light of it, said, that he, or any
man living, might be drunk upon occasion ; it
remained now to make the best of a bad bargain ;
the general’s wife was now the general, and could
do anything with Othello ; that he were best to
apply to the lady Desdemona to mediate for him
with her lord ; that she was of a frank, obliging dis-
position, and would readily undertake a good office
of this sort, and set Cassio right again in the general’s
favour ; and then this crack in their love would be
made stronger than ever. A good advice of lago,
if it had not been given for wicked purposes, which
will after appear.

Cassio did as lago advised him, and made appli-
cation to the lady Desdemona, who was easy to be
won over in any honest suit ; and she promised
Cassio that she should be his solicitor with her lord,
and rather die than give up his cause. This she
immediately set about in so earnest and pretty a
manner, that Othello, who was mortally offended
with Cassio, could not put her off. When he pleaded
delay, and that it was too soon to pardon such an
offender, she would not be beat back, but insisted
that it should be the next night, or the morning

300 Tales from Shakspeare

after, or the next morning to that at farthest. Then
she showed how penitent and humbled poor Cassio
was, and that his offence did not deserve so sharp a
check. And when Othello still hung back, What !
my lord,” said she, ‘‘ that I should have so much to
do to plead for Cassio, Michael Cassio, that came a
courting for you, and oftentimes, when I have spoken
in dispraise of you, has taken your part ! I count
this but a little thing to ask of you. When I mean
to try your love indeed, I shall ask a weighty
matter.” Othello could deny nothing to such a
pleader, and only requesting that Desdemona would
leave the time to him, promised ta receive Michael
Cassio again in favour.

It happened that Othello and lago had entered
into the room where Desdemona was, just as Cassio,
who had been imploring her intercession, was de-
parting at the opposite door : and lago, who was full
of art, said in a low voice, as if to himself, ‘‘I like
not that.” Othello took no great notice of what he
said; indeed, the conference which immediately took
place with his lady put it out of his head; but he
remembered it afterwards. For when Desdemona
was gone, lago, as if for mere satisfaction of his
thought, questioned Othello whether Michael Cassio,
when Othello was courting his lady, knew of his love.
To this the general answering in the affirmative, and
adding, that he had gone between them very often
during the courtship, la^^kniited his brow, as if he
had got fresh light on some terrible matter, and cried,
IndeqdJ-” This brought into Othello’s mind the
words which lago had let fall upon entering the room,
and seeing Cassio with Desdemona ; and he began to
think there was some meaning in all this : for he
deemed lago to be a just man, and full of love and
honesty, and what in a false knave would be tricks, in
him seemed to be the natural workings of an honest

Othello

301

mind, big with something too great for utterance :
and Othello prayed lago to speak what he knew, and
to give his worst thoughts words. ‘‘And what,” said
lago, “if some thoughts very vile should have intruded
into my breast, as where is the palace into which foul
things do not enter ? ” Then lago went on to say,
what a pity it were, if any trouble should arise to
Othello out of his imperfect observations ; that it
would not be for Othello’s peace to know his thoughts ;
that people’s good ' names were not to be taken away
for slight suspicions; and when Othello’s curiosity
was raised almost to distraction with these hints and
scattered words, lago, as if in earnest care for
Othello’s peace of mind, besought him to beware of
jealousy : with such art did this villain raise suspicions
in the unguarded Othello, by the very caution which
h^_2ryended to give him against suspicion. “ I
know,” said Othello, “that my wife is fair, loves
company and feasting, is free of speech, sings, plays,
and dances well ; but where virtue is, these qualities
are virtuous. I must have proof before I think her
dishonest.” Then lago, as if glad that Othello
was slow to believe ill of his lady, frankly declared
that he had no proof, but begged Othello to observe
her behaviour well, when Cassio was by ; not to
be jealous nor too secure neither, for that he (lago)
knew the dispositions of the Italian ladies, his
countrywomen, better than Othello could do; and
that in Venice the wives let heaven see many pranks
they dared not show their husbands. Then he art-
fully insinuated that Desdemona deceived her father
in marrying with Othello, and carried it so closely,
that the poor old man thought that witchcraft had
been used. Othello was much moved with this
argument, which brought the matter home to him,
for if she had deceived her father, why might she
not deceive her husband ?

302 Tales from Shakspeare

lago begged pardon for having moved him ; but
Othello, assuming an indifference, while he was
really shaken with inward grief at lago’s words,
begged him to go on, which lago did with many
apologies, as if unwilling to produce anything
against Cassio, whom he called his friend ; he then
came strongly to the point, and reminded Othello
how Desdemona had refused many suitable matches
of her own clime and complexion, and had married
him, a Moor, which showed unnatural in her, and
proved her to have a headstrong will ; and when
her better judgment returned, how probable it was
she should fall upon comparing Othello with the
fine forms and clear white corrmlexions of the
young Italians her countrymen. \ He concluded
with advising Othello to put off his reconcilement
with Cassio a little longer, and in the meanwhile
to note with what earnestness Desdemona should
intercede in his behalf; for that much would be
seen in that. So mischievously did this artful
villain lay his plots to turn the gentle qualities of
this innocent lady into her destruction, and make
a net for her out of her own goodness to entrap
her : first setting Cassio on to entreat her mediation,
and then out of that very mediation contriving
stratagems for her ruin.

The conference ended with lago’s begging
Othello to account his wife innocent, until he had
more decisive proof; and Othello promised to be
patient ; but from that moment the deceived Othello
never tasted content of mind. Poppy, nor the juice
of mandragora, nor all the sleeping potions in the
world, could ever again restore to him that sweet rest,
which he had enjoyed but yesterday. His occupation
sickened upon him. He no longer took delight in
arms. His heart, that used to be roused at the sight
of troops, and banners, and battle-array, and would

Othello

303

stir and leap at the sound of a drum, or a trumpet, or
a neighing war-horse, seemed to have lost all that
pride and ambition which are a soldier’s virtue ; and
his military ardour and all his old joys forsook him.
Sometimes he thought his wife honest, and at times
he thought her not so ; sometimes he thought lago
just, and at times he thought him not so ; then he
would wish that he had never known of it ; he was
not the worse for her loving Cassio, so long as he
knew it not : torn to pieces with these distracting
thoughts, he once laid hold on lago’s throat, and
demanded proof of Desdemona’s guilt, or threatened
instant death for his having belied her. lago, feigning
indignation that his honesty should be taken for a
vice, asked Othello, if he had not sometimes seen a
handkerchief spotted with strawberries in his wife’s
hand. Othello answered, that he had given her such
a one, and that it was his first gift. “ That same
handkerchief,” said lago, ‘Mid I see Michael Cassio
this day wipe his face with.” “ If it be as you say,”
said Othello, “I will not rest till a wide revenge
swallow them up : and first, for a token of your
fidelity, I expect that Cassio shall be put to death
within three days ; and for that fair devil (meaning
his lady), I will withdraw and devise some swift
means of death for her.”

Trifles light as air are to the jealous proofs as
strong as holy writ. A handkerchief of his wife’s
seen in Cassio’s hand, was motive enough to the
deluded Othello to pass sentence of death upon them
both, without once inquiring how Cassio came by it.
Desdemona had never given such a present to Cassio,
nor would this constant lady have wronged her lord
with doing so naughty a thing as giving his presents
to another man ; both Cassio and Desdemona were
innocent of any offence against Othello : but the
wicked lago, whose spirits never slept in contrivance

Y

304 Tales from Shakspeare

of villany, had made his wife (a good, but a weak
woman) steal this handkerchief from Desdemona,
under pretence of getting the work copied, but in
reality to drop it in Cassio’s way, where he might
find it, and give a handle to lago’s suggestion that it
was Desdemona’s present.

Othello, soon after meeting his wife, pretended
that he had a headache (as he might indeed with
truth), and desired her to lend him her handkerchief
to hold to his temples. She did so. “ Not this,”
said Othello, but that handkerchief I gave you.”
Desdemona had it not about her (for indeed it was
stolen, as we have related). How ? ” said Othello,

this is a fault indeed. That handkerchief an
Egyptian woman gave to my mother ; the woman
was a witch and could read people’s thoughts : she
told my mother, while she kept it, it would make
her amiable, and my father would love her ; but, if
she lost it, or gave it away, my father’s fancy would
turn, and he would loathe her as much as he had
loved her.' She dying gave it to me, and bade me,
if I ever married, to give it to my wife. I did so ;
take heed of it. Make it a darling as precious as
your eye.” Is it possible ? ” said the frighted lady.

’Tis true,” continued Othello ; it is a magical
handkerchief ; a sibyl that had lived in the world
two hundred years, in a fit of prophetic fury worked
it ; the silkworms that furnished the silk were
hallowed, and it was dyed in a mummy of maidens’
hearts conserved.” Desdemona, hearing the wondrous
virtues of the handkerchief, was ready to die with
fear, for she plainly perceived she had lost it, and
with it, she feared, the affections of her husband.
Then Othello started, and looked as if he were going
to do some rash thing, and still he demanded the
handkerchief, which when she could not produce,
she tried to divert her husband from too serious

Othello

305

thoughts, and cheerfully told him she saw all his talk
about the handkerchief was only to put her off from
her suit about Michael Cassio, whom she went on to
praise (as lago had foretold), till Othello in perfect
distraction burst out of the room, and then Desde-
mona, though unwillingly, began to suspect that her
lord was jealous.

What cause she could have ministered to him she
knew not, and then she accused herself for accusing
the noble Othello, and thought to be sure that some
untoward news from Venice, or some state troubles
had puddled his spirits, and made his temper not so
sweet as formerly. And she said, Men are not
gods, and we must not look for that observance from
them when they are married, which they show us
on the bridal day.” And she beshrewed herself for
so unkindly judging of his unkindness.

Again Othello and Desdemona met, and he ac-
cused her more plainly of being unfaithful, and of
loving another man, but he did not name whom :
and Othello wept, and Desdemona said, “ Alas ! the
heavy day ! why do you weep ? ” And Othello told
her, he could have borne all sorts of evils with
fortitude — poverty, and disease, and disgrace ; but
her infidelity had broken his heart : and he called
her a weed, that looked so fair, and smelled so sweet,
that the sense ached at it ; and wished she had never
been born. And when he had left her, this innocent
lady was so stupefied with wonder at her lord s untrue
suspicion of her, that a weight-like sleep came over
her, and she only desired her attendant to make her
bed, and to lay her wedding-sheets upon it, saying,
that when people teach their babes, they do it by
gentle means and easy tasks, and Othello might have
chid her so ; for in good faith she was but a child
when she was chidden. And this was all the com-
plaint which this gentle lady made.

3o6 Tales from Shakspeare

Desdemona being retired to bed expecting her lord
would follow her, soon fell into a slumber, the effect
of her troubled spirits, when Othello entered the
chamber, full of the black purpose which he had
meditated of putting his lady to death. But when
he saw her asleep, he thought he would not shed her
blood, nor scar that white skin of hers, more white
than alabaster. But he was resolved she should die ;
else (as he said) she would live to betray more men,
as she had done him. Then he kissed her for the
last time (as he said), and that kiss was so sweet, that
he must needs kiss her again : and he wept, but he
said they were cruel tears.

Desdemona was awakened with his kisses, and she
looked upon Othello, and she saw him gnaw his
under lip, and roll his eyes, and she knew he was
always fatal when he looked so : and he bade her
prepare for death, and to say her prayers, for he would
not kill her soul. And this innocent wife, as she lay
at his mercy, begged for compassion, and to know
her fault, and then he named Cassio, and the hand-
kerchief which (he said) she had given him ; and as
the guiltless lady was proceeding to clear herself he
suddenly would hear no more, but covering her up
in the bed-clothes, stifled her till she died.

In this instant of time was brought into the house
Cassio, wounded and bleeding, whom lago had set
one of his creatures on to assassinate ; but the fellow
not succeeding in his attempt to kill Cassio (whom
he wounded, but not mortally), and being himself
killed by lago to prevent discovery, in his pockets
were found certain letters, which made the guilt of
lago, and the innocence of Cassio, clear beyond all
doubt ; and Cassio now came to beg pardon of
Othello, and to ask wherein he had offended him,
that he had employed lago to murder him.

This discovery was as a thunderstroke to Othello,

Othello

307

who now plainly saw that he was no better than a
murderer, and that his wife (poor innocent lady) had
been ever faithful to him ; the extreme anguish of
which discovery making life insupportable, he fell
upon his sword, and throwing himself upon the body
of his dear injured lady, expired.

These rash acts raised much passion of horror and
amazement in the bystanders, for Othello had borne
a fair reputation, and till he was wrought upon by
the arts of a villain, which his own noble nature never
gave him leave to suspect, he was a loving and a
doting husband. He had loved not wisely, but too
well ; and his manly eyes (when he learned his mis-
take), though not used to weep on every small oc-
casion, dropped tears as fast as the Arabian trees their
gum. And when he was dead all his former merits
and his valiant acts were remembered. Nothing now
remained for his successor but to put the utmost
censure of the law in force against ^^o, who was
^ecuted with strict tortures ; and to send word to
the state of Venice of the lamentable death of their
renowned general.

PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE

PERICLES, prince of Tyre, became a voluntary
exile from his dominions, io avert the dreadful
calamities which Antiochus, the wicked emperor of
Greece, threatened to bring upon his subjects and
city of Tyre, in revenge for a discovery which the
prince had made of a shocking deed which the
emperor had done in secret j as commonly it proves
dangerous to pry into the hidden crimes of great
ones. Leaving the government of his people in
the hands of his able and honest minister, Helicanus,
Pericles set sail from Tyre, thinking to absent him-
self till the wrath of Antiochus, who was mighty,
should be appeased.

T'he first place which the prince directed his course
to was Tarsus, and hearing that the city of Tarsus
was at that time suffering under a severe famine, he
took with him store of provisions for its relief. On
his arrival he found the city reduced to the utmost
distress; and, he coming like a messenger from heaven
with his unhoped-for succour, Cleon, the governor of
Tarsus, welcomed him with boundless thanks. Pericles
had not been here many days, before letters came
from his faithful minister, warning him that it was
not safe for him to stay at Tarsus, for Antiochus
knew of his abode, and by secret emissaries despatched
for that purpose sought his life. Upon receipt of
these letters Pericles put out to sea again, amidst the
blessings and prayers of a whole people who had been
fed by his bounty. ;

He had not sailed far, when his ship was over-
taken by a dreadful storni, and every man on board

308

Pericles

309

perished except Pericles, who was cast by the sea-
waves naked on an unknown shore, where he had
not wandered long before he met with some poor
fishermen, who invited him to their homes, giving
him^ clothes and provisions. The fishermen told
Pericles the name of their country was Pentapolis,
and that their king was Simonides, commonly
called the good Simonides, because of his peaceable
reign and good government. From them he also
learned that king Simonides had a fair young daughter,
and that the following day was her birthday, when
a grand tournament was to be held at court, many
princes and knights being come from all parts to try
their skill in arms for the love of Thaisa, this fair
princess. While the prince was listening to this
account, and secretly lamenting the loss of his good
armour, which disabled him from making one among
these valiant knights, another fisherman brought in a
complete suit of armour that he had taken out of the
sea with his fishing-net, which proved to be the very
armour he had lost. When Pericles beheld his own
armour, he said, ^‘Thanks, Fortune; after all my
crosses you give me somewhat to repair myself. This
armour was bequeathed to me by my dead father, for
whose dear sake I have so loved it, that whithersoever
I ' went, I still have kept it by me, and the rough
sea that parted it from me, having now become calm,
hath given it back again, for which I thank it, for,
since I have my father’s gift again, I think my ship-
wreck no misfortune.”

The next day Pericles, clad in his brave father’s
armour, repaired to the royal court of Simonides, where
he performed wonders at the tournament, vanquishing
with ease all the brave knights and valiant princes who
contended with him in arms for the honour of Thaisa’s
love. When brave warriors contended at court tour-
naments for the love of kings’ daughters, if one proved

310 Tales from Shakspeare

sole victor over all the rest, it Avas usual for the great
lady for whose sake these deeds of valour were under-
taken, to bestow all her respect upon the conqueror, and
Thaisa did not depart from this custom, for she presently
dismissed all the princes and knights whom Pericles had
vanquished, and distinguished him by her especial favour
and regard, crowning him with the wreath of victory, as
king of that day’s happiness; and Pericles became a
most passionate lover of this beauteous princess from
the first moment he beheld her.

The good Simonides so well approved of the valour
and noble qualities of Pericles, who was indeed a most
accomplished gentleman, and well learned in all
excellent arts, that though he knew not the rank of
this royal stranger (for Pericles for fear of Antiochus
gave out that he was a private gentleman of Tyre),
yet did not Simonides disdain to accept of the valiant
unknown for a son-in-law, when he perceived his
daughter’s affections were firmly fixed upon him.

Pericles had not been many months married to
Thaisa, before he received intelligence that his enemy
Antiochus was dead ; and that his subjects of Tyre,
impatient of his long absence, threatened to revolt, and
talked of placing Helicanus upon his vacant throne.
This news came from Helicanus himself, who, being
a loyal subject to his royal master, would not accept of
the high dignity offered him, but sent to let Pericles
know their intentions, that he might return home and
resume his lawful right. It was matter of great sur-
prise and joy to Simonides, to find that his son-in-law
(the obscure knight) was the renowned prince of
Tyre; yet again he regretted that he was not the
private gentleman he supposed him to be, seeing that he
must now part both with his admired son-in-law and
his beloved daughter, whom he feared to trust to the
perils of the sea, because Thaisa was with child ; and
Pericles himself wished her to remain with her father

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311

till after her confinement, but the poor lady so earnestly
desired to go with her husband, that at last they con-
sented, hoping she would reach Tyre before she was
brought to bed.

The sea was no friendly element to unhappy
Pericles, for long before they reached Tyre another
dreadful tempest arose, which so terrified Thaisa that
she was taken ill, and in a short space of time her
nurse Lychorida came to Pericles with a little child in
her arms, to tell the prince the sad tidings that his
wife died the moment her little babe was born. She
held the babe towards its father, saying, Here is a
thing too young for such a place. This is the child
of your dead queen.” No tongue can tell the dread-
ful sufferings of Pericles when he heard his wife was
dead. As soon as he could speak, he said, you
gods, why do you make us love your goodly gifts, and
then snatch those gifts away ? ” Patience, good
sir,” said Lychorida, here is dl that is left alive of
our dead queen, a little daughter, and for your child’s
sake be more manly. Patience, good sir, even for the
sake of this precious charge.” Pericles took the new-
born infant in his arms, and he said to the little babe.

Now may your life be mild, for a more blusterous
birth had never babe ! May your condition be mild
and gentle, for you have had the rudest welcome that
ever prince’s child did meet with ! May that which
follows be happy, for you have had as chiding a
nativity as fire, air, water, earth, and heaven could
make to herald you from the womb ! Even at the
first, your loss,” meaning in the death of her mother,

is more than all the joys, which you shall find upon
this earth to which you are come a new visitor, shall
be able to recompense.”

The storm still continuing to rage furiously, and
the sailors having a superstition that while a dead
body remained in the ship the storm would never

312 Tales from Shakspeare

cease, they came to Pericles to demand that his
queen should be thrown overboard ; and they said,
What courage, sir ? God save you ! ” Courage
enough,” said the sorrowing prince : I do not fear
the storm ; it has done to me its worst ; yet for the
love of this poor infant, this fresh new seafarer, I
wish the storm was over.” Sir,” said the sailors,
your queen must overboard. The sea works high,
the wind is loud, and the storm will not abate till
the ship be cleared of the dead.” Though Pericles
knew how weak and unfounded this superstition
was, yet he patiently submitted, saying, ‘^As you
think meet. Then she must overboard, most
wretched queen ! ” And now this unhappy prince
went to take a last view of his dear wife, and as he
looked on his Thaisa, he said, A terrible childbed
hast thou had, my dear ; no light, no fire ; the
unfriendly elements forget thee utterly, nor have I
time to bring thee hallowed to thy grave, but
must cast thee scarcely coffined into the sea, where
for a monument upon thy bones the humming
waters must overwhelm thy corpse, lying with simple
shells. O Lychorida, bid Nestor bring me spices,
ink, and paper, my casket and my jewels, and bid
Nicandor bring me the satin coffin. Lay the
babe upon the pillow, and go about this suddenly,
Lychorida, while I say a priestly farewell to my
Thaisa.”

They brought Pericles a large chest, in which
(wrapped in a satin shroud) he placed his queen,
and sweet-smelling spices he strewed over her, and
beside her he placed rich jewels, and a written
paper, telling who she was, and praying if haply
any one should find the chest which contained the
body of his wife, they would give her burial : and
then with his own hands he cast the chest into the
sea. When the storm was over, Pericles ordered

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313

the sailors to make for Tarsus. ‘‘For,” said
Pericles, “the babe cannot hold out till we come
to Tyre. At Tarsus I will leave it at careful
nursing.”

After that tempestuous night when Thaisa was
thrown into the sea, and while it was yet early
morning, as Cerimon, a worthy gentleman of
Ephesus, and a most skilful physician, was standing
by the sea-side, his servants brought to him a chest,
which they said the sea-waves had thrown on the
land. “ I never saw,” said one of them, “ so huge
a billow as cast it on our shore.” Cerimon ordered
the chest to be conveyed to his own house, and
when it was opened he beheld with wonder the body
of a young and lovely lady ; and the sweet-smelling
spices and rich casket of jewels made him conclude
it was some great person who was thus strangely
entombed : searching farther, he discovered a paper,
from which he learned that the corpse which lay as
dead before him had been a queen, and wife to
Pericles, prince of Tyre ; and much admiring at
the strangeness of that accident, and more pitying
the husband who had lost this sweet lady, he said,
“ If you are living, Pericles, you have a heart that
even cracks with woe.” Then observing atten-
tively Thaisa’s face, he saw how fresh and unlike
death her looks were, and he said, “ They were too
hasty that threw you into the sea : ” for he did not
believe her to be dead. He ordered a fire to be
made, and proper cordials to be brought, and soft
music to be played, which might help to calm her
amazed spirits if she should revive ; and he said to
those who crowded round her, wondering at what
they saw, “ I pray you, gentlemen, give her air ;
this queen will live; she has not been entranced
above five hours ; and see, she begins to blow into
life again ; she is alive ; behold, her eyelids move ;

314 Tales from Shakspeare

this fair creature will live to make us weep to hear
her fate.” Thaisa had never died, but after the
birth of her little baby had fallen into a deep swoon,
which made all that saw her conclude her to be
dead ; and now by the care of this kind gentleman
she once more revived to light and life ; and open-
ing her eyes, she said, Where am I ? Where is
my lord ? What world is this ? ” By gentle
degrees Cerimon let her understand what had
befallen her ; and when he thought she was enough
recovered to bear the sight, he showed her the paper
written by her husband, and the jewels ; and she
looked on the paper, and said, “ It is my lord’s
writing. That I was shipped at sea, I well
remember, but whether there delivered of my babe,
by the holy gods I cannot rightly say ; but since
my wedded lord I never shall see again, I will put
on a vestal livery, and never more have joy.”
‘‘Madam,” said Cerimon, “if you purpose as you
speak, the temple of Diana is not far distant from
hence ; there you may abide as a vestal. Moreover,
if you please, a niece of mine shall there attend
you.” This proposal was accepted with thanks
by Thaisa ; and when she was perfectly recovered,
Cerimon placed her in the temple of Diana, where
she became a vestal or priestess of that goddess,
and passed her days in sorrowing for her husband’s
supposed loss, and in the most devout exercises of
those times.

Pericles carried his young daughter (whom he
named Marina, because she was born at sea) to
Tarsus, intending to leave her with Cleon, the gover-
nor of that city, and his wife Dionysia, thinking, for
the good he had done to them at the time of their
famine, they would be kind to his little motherless
daughter. When Cleon saw prince Pericles, and
heard of the great loss which had befallen him, he

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315

said, O your sweet queen, that it had pleased Heaven
you could have brought her hither to have blessed
my eyes with the sight of her ! ” Pericles replied,
‘^We must obey the powers above us. Should I
rage and roar as the sea does in which my Thaisa
lies, yet the end must be as it is. My gentle babe,
Marina here, I must charge your charity with her. I
leave her the infant of your care, beseeching you to
give her princely training.” And then turning to
Cleon’s wife, Dionysia, he said, Good madam,
make me blessed in your care in bringing up my
child : ” and she answered, I have a child myself
who shall not be more dear to my respect than yours,
my lord ; ” and Cleon made the like promise, saying.
Your noble services, prince Pericles, in feeding my
whole people with your corn (for which in their
prayers they daily remember you) must in your child
be thought on. If I should neglect your child, my
whole people that were by you relieved would force
me to my duty ; but if to that I need a spur, the
gods revenge it on me and mine to the end of gener-
ation.” Pericles, being thus assured that his child
would be carefully attended to, left her to the pro-
tection of Cleon and his wife Dionysia, and with her
he left the nurse Lychorida. When he went away,
the little Marina knew not her loss, but Lychorida
wept sadly at parting with her royal master. O,
no tears, Lychorida,” said Pericles : no tears ; look
to your little mistress, on whose grace you may
depend hereafter.”

Pericles arrived in safety at Tyre, and was once
more settled in the quiet possession of his throne,
while his woeful queen, whom he thought dead, re-
mained at Ephesus. Her little babe Marina, whom
this hapless mother had never seen, was brought up
by Cleon in a manner suitable to her high birth.
He gave her the most careful e*ducation, so that by

3i6 Tales from Shakspeare

the time Marina attained the age of fourteen years,
the most deeply-learned men were not more studied
in the learning of those times than was Marina.
She sang like one immortal, and danced as goddess-
like, and with her needle she was so skilful that she
seemed to compose nature’s own shapes, in birds,
fruits, or flowers, the natural roses being scarcely
more like to each other than they were to Marina’s
silken flowers. But when she had gained from educa-
tion all these graces, which made her the general
wonder, Dionysia, the wife of Cleon, became her
mortal enemy from jealousy, by reason that her own
daughter, from the slowness of her mind, was not
able to attain to that perfection wherein Marina ex-
celled : and finding that all praise was bestowed on
Marina, whilst her daughter, who was of the same
age, and had been educated with the same care as
Marina, though not with the same success, was in
comparison disregarded, she formed a project to re-
move Marina out of the way, vainly imagining that
her untoward daughter would be more respected
when Marina was no more seen. To encompass this
she employed a man to murder Marina, and she well
timed her wicked design, when Lychorida, the faith-
ful nurse, had just died. Dionysia was discoursing
with the man she had commanded to commit this
murder, when the young Marina was weeping over
the dead Lychorida. Leonine, the man she employed
to do this bad deed, though he was a very wicked
man, could hardly be persuaded to undertake it, so
had Marina won all hearts to love her. He said,
‘‘She is a goodly creature !” “The fitter then the
gods should have her,” replied her merciless enemy :
“ here she comes weeping for the death of her nurse
Lychorida : are you resolved to obey me?” Leonine,
fearing to disobey her, replied, “ I am resolved.”
And so, in that one short sentence, was the matchless

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317

Marina doomed to an untimely death. She now
approached, with a basket of flowers in her hand,
which she said she would daily strew over the grave
of good Lvchorida. The purple violet and the mari-
gold should as a carpet hang upon her grave, while
summer days did last. Alas, for me ! ” she said,
poor unhappy maid, born in a tempest, when my
mother died. This world to me is like a lasting
storm, hurrying me from my friends.” ‘‘ How now,
Marina,” said the dissembling Dionysia, ‘‘ do you
weep alone ? How does it chance my daughter is
not with you ? Do not sorrow for Lychorida, you
have a nurse in me. Your beauty is quite changed
with this unprofitable woe. Come, give me your
flowers, the sea-air will spoil them ; and walk with
Leonine : the air is fine, and will enliven you.
Come, Leonine, take her by the arm, and walk with
her.” No, madam,” said Marina, ‘‘ I pray you let
me not deprive you of your servant : ” for Leonine
was one of Dionysia’s attendants. ‘‘Come, come,”
said this artful woman, who wished for a pretence to
leave her alone with Leonine, “ I love the prince,
your father, and I love you. We every day expect
your father here ; and when he comes, and finds you
so changed by grief from the paragon of beauty we
reported you, he will think we have taken no care of
you. Go, I pray you, walk, and be cheerful once
again. Be careful of that excellent complexion,
which stole the hearts of old and young.” Marina,
being thus importuned, said, “Well, I will go, but
yet I have no desire to it.” As Dionysia walked
away, she said to Leonine, “ Remember what I have
said ! ” — shocking words, for their meaning was that
he should remember to kill Marina.

Marina looked towards the sea, her birthplace, and
said, “ Is the wind westerly that blows ? ” “ South-

west,” replied Leonine. “ When I was born the

31 8 Tales from Shakspeare

wind was north,” said she : and then the storm and
tempest, and all her father’s sorrows, and her mother’s
death, came full into her mind ; and she said, My
father, as Lychorida told me, did never fear, but cried.
Courage^ good seamen^ to the sailors, galling his princely
hands with the ropes, and, clasping to the masts, he
endured a sea that almost split the deck.” ^‘When
was this ? ” said Leonine. When I was born,”
replied Marina : never were wind and waves more
violent;” and then she described the storm, the
action of the sailors, the boatswain’s whistle, and the
loud call of the master, which,” said she, ‘‘trebled
the confusion of the ship.” Lychorida had so often
recounted to Marina the story of her hapless birth
that these things seemed ever present to her imagina-
tion. But here Leonine interrupted her with desiring
her to say her prayers. “ What mean you ? ” said
Marina, who began to fear, she knew not why. “ If
you require a little space for prayer, I grant it,” said
Leonine ; “ but be not tedious, the gods are quick of
ear, and I am sworn to do my work in haste.” “ Will
you kill me?” said Marina: “alas! why?” “To
satisfy my lady,” replied Leonine. “ Why would she
have me killed ? ” said Marina : “ now, as I can
remember, I never hurt her in all my life. I never
spake bad word, nor did any ill turn to any living
creature. Believe me now, I never killed a mouse,
nor hurt a fly. I trod upon a worm once against my
will, but I wept for it. How have I offended ? ” The
murderer replied, “ My commission is not to reason on
the deed, but to do it.” And he was just going to kill
her, when certain pirates happened to land at that
very moment, who seeing Marina, bore her off as a
prize to their ship.

The pirate who had made Marina his prize carried
her to Mitylene, and sold her for a slave, where, though
in that humble condition, Marina soon became known

Pericles

319

throughout the whole city of Mitylene for her beauty
and her virtues ; and the person to whom she was sold
became rich by the money she earned for him. She
taught music, dancing, and fine needleworks, and the
money she got by her scholars she gave to her master
and mistress ; and the fame of her learning and her
great industry came to the knowledge of Lysimachus,
a young nobleman who was governor of Mitylene, and
Lysimachus went himself to the house where Marina
dwelt, to sec this paragon of excellence, whom all the
city praised so highly. Her conversation delighted
Lysimachus beyond measure, for though he had heard
much of this admired maiden, he did not expect to
find her so sensible a lady, so virtuous, and so good,
as he perceived Marina to be; and he left her, saying, he
hoped she would persevere in her industrious and vir-
tuous course, and that if ever she heard from him again
it should be for her good. Lysimachus thought Marina
such a miracle for sense, fine breeding, and excellent
qualities, as well as for beauty and all outward graces,
that he wished to marry her, and notwithstanding her
humble situation, he hoped to find that her birth was
noble ; but ever when they asked her parentage she
would sit still and weep.

Meantime, at Tarsvis, Leonine, fearing the anger
of Dionysia, told her he had killed Marina ; and
that wicked woman gave out that she was dead, and
made a pretended funeral for her, and erected a
stately monument ; and shortly after Pericles, ac-
companied by his loyal minister Helicanus, made
a voyage from Tyre to Tarsus, on purpose to see
his daughter, intending to take her home with him :
and he never having beheld her since he left her
an infant in the care of Cleon and his wife, how did
this good prince rejoice at the thought ot seeing
this dear child of his buried queen ! but when they
told him Marina was dead, and showed the monu-

320 Tales from Shakspeare

ment they had erected for her, great was the misery
this most wretched father endured, and not being
able to bear the sight of that country where his last
hope and only memory of his dear Thaisa was en-
tombed, he took ship, and hastily departed from
Tarsus. From the day he entered the ship a dull
and heavy melancholy seized him. He never spoke,
and seemed totally insensible to everything around
him.

Sailing from Tarsus to Tyre, the ship in its
course passed by Mitylene, where Marina dwelt ;
the governor of which place, Lysimachus, observing
this royal vessel from the shore, and desirous of
knowing who was on board, went in a barge to the
side of the ship, to satisfy his curiosity. Helicanus
received him very courteously and told him that
the ship came from Tyre, and that they were con-
ducting thither Pericles, their prince; man,

sir,” said Helicanus, ‘^who has not spoken to any
one these three months, nor taken any sustenance,
but just to prolong his grief ; it would be tedious
to repeat the whole ground of his distemper, but
the main springs from the loss of a beloved daughter
and a wife.” Lysimachus begged to see this
afflicted prince, and when he beheld Pericles, he
saw he had been once a goodly person, and he said
to him, ^‘Sir king, all hail, the gods preserve you,
hail, royal sir ! ” But in vain Lysimachus spoke
to him ; Pericles made no answer, nor did he
appear to perceive any stranger approached. And
then Lysimachus bethought him of the peerless maid
Marina, that haply with her sweet tongue she might
win some answer from the silent prince : and with
the consent of Helicanus he sent for Marina, and
when she entered the ship in which her own father
sat motionless with grief, they welcomed her on
board as if they had known she was their princess ;

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321

and they cried, «She is a gallant lady.” Lysi-
machus was well pleased to hear their commenda-
tions, and he said, She is such a one, that were I
well assured she came of noble birth, I would wish
no better choice, and think me rarely blessed in a
wife.” And then he addressed her in courtly terms,
as if the lowly-seeming maid had been the high-born
lady he wished to find her, calling her Fair and
beautiful Marina^ telling her a great prince on board
that ship had fallen into a sad and mournful silence ;
and, as if Marina had the power of conferring health
and felicity, he begged she would undertake to cure
the royal stranger of his melancholy. ‘‘Sir,” said
Marina, “ I will use my utmost skill in his recovery,
provided none but I and my maid be suffered to
come near him.”

She, who at Mitylene had so carefully concealed
her birth, ashamed to tell that one of royal ancestry
was now a slave, first began to speak to Pericles of
the wayward changes in her own fate, telling him
from what a high estate herself had fallen. As if
she had known it was her royal father she stood
before, all the words she spoke were of her own
sorrows ; but her reason for so doing was, that she
knew nothing more wins the attention of the unfor-
tunate than the recital of some sad calamity to
match their own. The sound of her sweet voice
aroused the drooping prince ; he lifted up his eyes,
which had been so long fixed and motionless ; and
Marina, who was the perfect image of her mother,
presented to his amazed sight the features of his
dead queen. The long-silent prince was once
more heard to speak. “ My dearest wife,” said the
awakened Pericles, “ was like this maid, and such
a one might my daughter have been. My queen’s
square brows, her stature to an inch, as wand-like
straight, as silver-voiced, her eyes as jewel-like.

322 Tales from Shakspeare

Where do you live, young maid ? Report your
parentage. I think you said you had been tossed
from wrong to injury, and that you thought your
griefs would equal mine, if both were opened.”

Some such thing I said,” replied Marina, and
said no more than what my thoughts did warrant
me as likely.” ^^Tell me your story,” answered
Pericles ; if I find you have known the thousandth
part of my endurance, you have borne your sorrows
like a man, and I have suffered like a girl ; yet
you do look like Patience gazing on kings’ graves,
and smiling extremity out of act. How lost you
your name, my most kind virgin ? Recount your
story I beseech you. Come, sit by me.” How
was Pericles surprised when she said her name was
Marina^ for he knew it was no usual name, but had
been invented by himself for his own child to
signify seaborn : “ O, I am mocked,” said he, and
you are sent hither by some incensed god to make
the world laugh at me.” “ Patience^ good sir,” said
Marina, ‘^or I must cease here.” “Nay,” said
Pericles, “ I will be patient ; you little know how
you do startle me, to call yourself Marina.” The
name,” she replied, “was given me by one that
had some power, my father, and a king.” “ How,
a king’s daughter ! ” said Pericles, “ and called
Marina ! But are you flesh and blood ? Are you
no fairy ? Speak on ; where were you born ? and
wherefore called Marina } ” She replied, “ I was
called Marina, because I was born at sea. My
mother was the daughter of a king ; she died the
minute I was born, as my good nurse Lychorida
has often told me weeping. The king, my father,
left me at Tarsus, till the cruel wife of Cleon
sought to murder me. A crew of pirates came and
rescued me, and brought me here to Mitylene.
But, good sir, why do you weep ? It may be, you

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323

think me an impostor. But, indeed, sir, I am the
daughter to king Pericles, if good king Pericles be
living.” Then Pericles, terrified as he seemed at
his own sudden joy, and doubtful if this could be
real, loudly called for his attendants, who rejoiced
at the sound of their beloved king’s voice ; and he
said to Helicanus, O Helicanus, strike me, give
me a gash, put me to present pain, lest this great
sea of joys rushing upon me, overbear the shores
of my mortality. O, come hither, thou that wast
born at sea, buried at Tarsus, and found at sea
again. O Helicanus, down on your knees, thank
the holy gods ! This is Marina. Now blessings
on thee, my child ! Give me fresh garments, mine
own Helicanus ! She is not dead at Tarsus as she
should have been by the savage Dionysia. She shall
tell you all, when you shall kneel to her and call
her your very princess. Who is this ? ” (observing
Lysimachus for the first time.) Sir,” said Helicanus,
it is the governor of Mitylene, who, hearing of your
melancholy, came to see you.” embrace you,
sir,” said Pericles. Give me my robes ! I am well

with beholding O heaven bless my girl ! But

. hark, what music is that ? ” — for now, either sent
by some kind god, or by his own delighted fancy
deceived, he seemed to hear soft music. My lord,
I hear none,” replied Helicanus. None ? ” said
Pericles ; ‘‘why it is the music of the spheres.” As
there was no music to be heard, Lysimachus con-
cluded that the sudden joy had unsettled the prince’s
understanding ; and he said, “ It is not good to
cross him : let him have his way : ” and then they
told him they heard the music ; and he now com-
plaining of a drowsy slumber coming over him,
Lysimachus persuaded him to rest on a couch, and
placing a pillow under his head, he, quite over-
powered with excess of joy, sank into a sound

324 Tales from Shakspeare

sleep, and Marina watched in silence by the couch
of her sleeping parent.

While he slept, Pericles dreamed a dream which
made him resolve to go to Ephesus. His dream
was, that Diana, the goddess of the Ephesians,
appeared to him, and commanded him to go to
her temple at Ephesus, and there before her altar
to declare the story of his life and misfortunes ; and
by her silver bow she swore, that if he performed
her injunction, he should meet with some rare
felicity. When he awoke, being miraculously re-
freshed, he told his dream, and that his resolution
was to obey the bidding of the goddess.

Then Lysimachus invited Pericles to come on
shore, and refresh himself with such entertainment
as he should find at Mitylene, which courteous offer
Pericles accepting, agreed to tarry with him for the
space of a day or two. During which time we may
well suppose what feastings, what rejoicings, what
costly shows and entertainments the governor made
in Mitylene, to greet the royal father of his dear
Marina, whom in her obscure fortunes he had so
respected. Nor did Pericles frown upon Lysi-
machus’s suit, when he understood how he had
honoured his child in the days of her low estate,
and that Marina showed herself not averse to his
proposals ; only he made it a condition, before he
gave his consent, that they should visit with him
the shrine of the Ephesian Diana : to whose temple
they shortly after all three undertook a voyage ;
and, the goddess herself filling their sails with
prosperous winds, after a few weeks they arrived in
safety at Ephesus.

There was standing near the altar of the goddess,
when Pericles with his train entered the temple,
the good Cerimon (now grown very aged) who had
restored Thaisa, the wife of Pericles, to life ; and

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325

Thaisa, now a priestess of the temple, was standing
before the altar ; and though the many years he
had passed in sorrow for her loss had much altered
Pericles, Thaisa thought she knew her husband’s
features, and when he approached the altar and
began to speak, she remembered his voice, and
listened to his words with wonder and a joyful
amazement. And these were the words that
Pericles spoke before the altar : “ Hail, Diana ! to
perform thy just commands, I here confess myself
the prince of Tyre, who, frighted from my country,
at Pentapolis wedded the fair Thaisa ; she died at
sea in childbed, but brought forth a maid-child
called Marina. She at Tarsus was nursed with
Dionysia, who at fourteen years thought to kill her,
but her better stars brought her to Mitylene, by
whose shores as I sailed, her good fortunes brought
this maid on board, where by her most clear
remembrance she made herself known to be my
daughter.”

Thaisa, unable to bear the transports which his
words had raised in her, cried out, ‘‘You are, you

are, O royal Pericles ” and fainted. “ What

means this woman ? ” said Pericles : “ she dies !
gentlemen, help.” — “ Sir,” said Cerimon, “ if you
have told Diana’s altar true, this is your wife.”
“ Reverend gentleman, no,” said Pericles : “ I threw
her overboard with these very arms.” Cerimon
then recounted how, early one tempestuous morn-
ing, this lady was thrown upon the Ephesian
shore ; how, opening the coffin, he found therein
rich jewels, and a paper ; how, happily, he re-
covered her, and placed her here in Diana’s temple.
And now, Thaisa being restored from her swoon
said, “ O my lord, are you not Pericles ? Like him
you speak, like him you are. Did you not name a
tempest, a birth, and death ? ” He astonished said,

326 Tales from Shakspeare

The voice of dead Thaisa ! ” That Thaisa am
I,” she replied, supposed dead and drowned.’* O
true Diana ! ” exclaimed Pericles, in a passion of
devout astonishment. And now,” said Thaisa, I
know you better. Such a ring as I see on your
finger did the king my father give you, when we
with tears parted from him at Pentapolis.” Enough,
you gods ! ” cried Pericles, your present kindness
makes my past miseries sport. O come, Thaisa, be
buried a second time within these arms.”

And Marina said, ‘‘ My heart leaps to be gone
into my mother’s bosom.” Then did Pericles show
his daughter to her mother, saying, Look who
kneels here, flesh of thy flesh, thy burthen at sea,
and called Marina, because she was yielded there.”

Blessed and my own ! ” said Thaisa : and while
she hung in rapturous joy over her child, Pericles
knelt before the altar, saying, Pure Diana, bless
thee for thy vision. For this, I will offer oblations
nightly to thee.” And then and there did Pericles,
with the consent of Thaisa, solemnly affiance their
daughter, the virtuous Marina, to the well-deserving
Lysimachus in marriage.

Thus have we seen in Pericles, his queen, and
daughter, a famous example of virtue assailed by
calamity (through the sufferance of Heaven, to
teach patience and constancy to men), under the
same guidance becoming finally successful, and
triumphing over chance and change. In Helicanus
we have beheld a notable pattern of truth, of faith,
and loyalty, who, when he might have succeeded
to a throne, chose rather to recall the rightful
owner to his possession, than to become great by
another’s wrong. In the worthy Cerimon, who
restored Thaisa to life, we are instructed how good-
ness directed by knowledge, in bestowing benefits
upon mankind, approaches to the nature of the

Pericles

gods. It only remains to be told, that Dionysia,
the wicked wife of Cleon, met with an end propor-
tionable to her deserts ; the inhabitants of Tarsus,
when her cruel attempt upon Marina was known,
rising in a body to revenge the daughter of
their benefactor, and setting fire to the palace of
Cleon, burnt both him and her, and their whole
household : the gods seeming well pleased, that so
foul a murder, though but intentional, and never
carried into act, should be punished in a way be-
fitting its enormity.

Richard Clay & Sons, Limited,

BREAD STREET HILL, E.C., AND
BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.

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